Part the First
by E. M. Pink
Summary: Part I of the Saga of Tobias Snape. It's sixth year, and Harry has somehow gotten over Sirius' tragic death. The new problems that assail him now, however, are more mundane and mysterious. And the only person with any answers, is Professor Snape. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: The Saga Begins

_A/N:_

_Nothing familiar in this story belongs to me, of course. The rest is MINE. Read and review, if you have the time. Be warned that this fic _does_ contain violence and a bit of swearing, and that Harry may seem a bit out of character at times. If that's not your cup of tea, then move on. Harry is also, as I vowed in my Yahoo group, not in a slash relationship at any point in this first part of my 'saga'. Enjoy…_

**Chapter 1 : The Saga Begins**

Harry shut his window with a hard _thud_. It had been raining for some time this night, with no sign of stopping. Frustrated, he flopped back onto his untidy, narrow bed, muttering to himself. Hedwig's soft, sleepy hoot failed to reassure him – there would be no news tonight.

Again.

Harry sighed, turning over to look up at the greying ceiling. Dumbledore had been true to his word, making sure to send Harry regular owls once every three or four days. The owls changed each time, and stayed only long enough to drop off a letter or two, before launching out of the window regardless of Aunt Petunia's nervous grumbling.

"What would the neighbours _say_ – " would drift upwards through his door in her shrill, nasal moan. Harry never bothered to get up to answer her, or Vernon, for that matter. Harry never really bothered to get up for very much these days – save an owl from the Order or Dumbledore or his friends, or to handle some easy chore Dudley absolutely refused to set his pudgy, inept hands to, or to shower or use the loo. The urge to eat became something of a vague pain in his stomach that he rewarded with a few halfhearted helpings of whatever bland meal was being served downstairs, and much of Harry's time was spent on his bed, thinking on the debacle of the Department of Mysteries that had occurred two or three weeks ago.

Harry had not emerged from his room for the first week. He'd lain in bed and kept on turning the events in his head till it hurt, and sobbing silently when he thought of Sirius. The pain had now faded to a dull, heavy ache in his stomach – although that might have been because he hadn't eaten since the rain began – and had helped to sharpen his resolve not to make such a monumental mistake like that again.

That was, if he ever got _out_ of this place in the first place.

Harry sighed again. Hours had flown during his week of self-imprisonment; once he left his room, however, and started to slowly rejoin the world of the living, they'd become interminably long. The summer dragged slowly by, his routine everlastingly monotonous, consisting of a shower, one or two chores, a meal or two if he remembered, and – the most remotely exciting thing about his stay at Privet Drive so far – hours of studying and feverish writing. Harry had sent off for a sturdy leather-bound notebook the day he'd emerged from his room, and was proceeding to fill it with as many offensive curses, hexes and charms as he could find in all his textbooks, most of which were stacked in a lopsided pile under his old desk. Most of them he knew – the D.A. had been everlastingly useful in that respect – but some of them he wondered (sometimes, aloud) why on _earth_ he'd overlooked. Several charms he'd dismissed as useless beforehand took on a new, ingenious light when he recalled the fierce duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort at the end of that awful night's battle. Some very familiar hexes were noted down for use as distracting mechanisms, and he practiced the wand movements of those he didn't know over and over again. Sirius' death had taken a harsh toll, but instilled a harsher determination – Harry had vowed, at the end of that first week, that he'd not be taken advantage of again.

In conjunction with his newfound resolve, Harry had written directly the owners of Flourish and Blotts, asking for information on Occlumency books. They'd sent him a very short list of rare texts, and he'd sent them an order for the books. Harry devoured the first one to arrive, and had been able to sleep through the night for the first time three days ago. The book, _Unearthing the Art of Occlumency – For Beginners_, had explained in depth how to clear one's mind of all thoughts.

The small victory had not come cheap, though. Harry remembered the fruitless, frustrating hours had of trying to think of nothing for five days before hitting on the exact technique during one of Uncle Vernon's rants after Mad-Eye Moody had appeared on their doorstep, thinly disguised, for a "check-up". Harry had tuned out completely, nodding contritely and looking at the floor at opportune moments, all the while thinking longingly of cool, relieving water. The thought had somehow calmed and enveloped him, so that he'd realised with a start that Uncle Vernon was now ranting at Dudley, who had snuck out of his room for an impromptu raid on the refrigerator. Harry, mind still oddly full of water and the lapping of waves, had suddenly realised that his mind was _clear_, though full of thoughts of water.

Then, later that night, as he tossed and turned from his latest dream of Sirius and his inexorable fall into the Veil, he'd risen in desperation, his scar burning hot, and thought hard of calming, cooling water. At first, he'd thought of the lake in Hogwarts, then of a vast ocean, tossing angrily. The high waves had calmed gradually to gentle lapping, and Harry found himself easily falling asleep. The rest of his dreams had been shadowy and vague, but non-threatening, and he'd woken refreshed for the first time since the Ministry.

Since then, whenever pain from his scar knifed into him, or when he felt a foreign consciousness tugging violently at the edges of his mind, he'd sat down and thought hard of that vast, endless ocean, and the insistent tugging would rapidly dwindle to a vague echo of something that he could easily dismiss.

Now, the echo of the ocean he'd created in his mind calmed him, and his frustration with the absence of owls began to peter out. Lulled by the waves, his eyelids began to droop –

_Crack_.

Harry instantly became alert. That almost sounded like –

_Crack – crack – crack – crack –_

– someone _apparating_. Harry rolled off his bed speedily, wand leaping into his hand from his desk. That had begun to happen when he got nervous – his wand appearing in his hand from wherever it was. Harry opened his door hard, striding across the hallway to Dudley's door, which he hammered on.

"Piss _off_, you freak!" came Dudley's scared voice through the door. Harry shoved the door open.

"Get up," he ordered, in a tone that minced no words. "Get to your parents' room – _now_ – " Dudley rose from his bed, his fat frame wobbling as he caught the note of fear in Harry's tone.

"What's going on?" Aunt Petunia's shrill tone demanded from behind him. "Tromping about in this night – waking everyone – "

"I heard something outside," Harry said, tersely gesturing for Dudley to follow him out of the room. "It could be anyone – I want – I want you to stay in your room – till I come back – "

"What do you mean, you _heard_ something…" Aunt Petunia sniffed, not budging an inch.

"It was – " Harry began.

_BOOM._

The walls of the house rattled around them as something exploded nearby. Dudley and Petunia stilled in shock, disregarding Harry's bellow.

"IN THE ROOM – _NOW_ – "

He darted back into Dudley's room, heading for the window in the corner as his shaken relatives began to comply, stumbling for his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom, which Mad-Eye Moody had warded the day he'd come last week –

_BOOM._

Harry's eyes widened in shock. God – they were attacking the house of _Mrs. Figg_ –

"_MORSMORDRE!"_

Five voices called the incantation of the Dark Mark as one, and _five_ of the evilly glowing green symbols soared into the sky –

Harry ran for his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom – they were coming for him – the portkey – he needed the –

_Crash._ The front door downstairs exploded violently, even as Harry seized his school bag, which was filled with his most important –

"_Potter!"_ a voice boomed triumphantly below. Harry skidded across the corridor, slipping and sliding in his haste to enter the bedroom –

"Come out, Potter – give yourself up, and _maybe_ we'll let the Muggles live – "

That shrill voice – Bellatrix Lestrange –

Harry slammed the bedroom door, pulling out the worn portkey from his bag, yelling at his relatives.

"_Take my arm – touch me – "_

"Potter – " The hated tones of Bellatrix Lestrange's voice came closer. "We know you're there – " All the glass in the house seemed to smash at an incantation from someone, causing Dudley to shriek in fright –

"_Protego vitalis!"_ Harry whispered, putting all his strength into the spell, in case they found him before he could say the long string of latin that would activate the portkey, "Memorae sacrificum vitalis," he began, ignoring Aunt Petunia's terrified sobs.

"Oh god – they'll kill us – just like Lily – "

" – maternam protego filius est!" Harry finished, shouting now, with desperation. The door to Dudley's bedroom exploded, followed by the sound of his own. The portkey grew warm in his hands – Harry closed his eyes –

"He's _hiding_ – "

The bedroom door smashed open, even as Harry felt the telltale jerk of the portkey behind his navel –

* * *

Several miles away, in a dank house in London, four shaken humans crashed to the floor. 

Harry got up immediately, but not before his uncle began to bellow –

"WHAT DID YOU DO – WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR HOUSE – "

"_Be quiet!"_ Harry ordered, too late, as the hated screeching of Mrs. Black began in the room next to them.

"_Traitor! Filthy half-blood – besmirching the house of my fathers – " _

Harry extracted his painful leg from beneath Dudley's sobbing bulk, his blood roaring in his ears as he stalked over to the screeching work of art, ignoring the wailing and shouting from his aunt and uncle.

"_Incendio!"_

Green flames leaped from the end of his wand to scorch the stark frame of the portrait, effectively silencing Mrs. Black.

"_You will be silent_," Harry hissed, shaking with anger and shock, "_or **else**!"_

The screeching, wailing and shouting all ceased as one, and Harry lowered his wand, which was still burning with green flame.

"Out of my way – " he strode past his shaking relatives, heading for the fireplace in the kitchen. Glancing back to see the Dursleys edging towards the forbidding front door, he spoke again. "Stay where you are – it's not safe outside – "

"And it's safe _here_?" demanded Aunt Petunia, angrily scrubbing at the dust on herself.

"Your house is probably burning to the ground as we _speak_," Harry said coldly, brimming with frustration and fear. "There are probably people watching the street outside, waiting to see if we appear here. We'd be dead before we got to the nearest bus stop if we set a foot outside."

"What about your precious _friends_?"

"Do you see _any_ of them here?" Harry shouted, frustration clear in his tone. "Something's obviously gone wrong – there must be attacks somewhere – I've got to contact Dumbledore, he'll know – "

Suddenly, a low muttering could be heard as a small, bent, dirty creature crept into the kitchen, dodging round the frightened Dursleys. Harry's whole body went still.

"Filthy mudbloods…besmirching the house of Mistress…filthy master has come…"

"_Kreacher?"_

The Dursleys' eyes all turned to their freak of a nephew, who now appeared as unbalanced as they thought him to be. His dark green eyes glittered with some nameless emotion, and his body, previously still, began to twitch in the most frightening –

"I can't believe it – you're _here_ – still alive – " Harry smiled, raising his wand, his frame stilling once more, green eyes shining eerily. "Not for long – but first – _Gurgulio suffocare_ – " The Dursleys backed away from the sight that began to unfold before them. The – the _creature_ began to choke, its large eyes widening with rage and helplessness, clawing at its own throat as Harry continued to speak, his voice going low with rage. "Sirius always wanted to do this – he should've killed you when he had the chance – " Kreacher whimpered, his tiny body convulsing as he began to glow a dim, sickly lavender.

The convulsions abruptly came to a stop, and the creature began to gulp in air, shivering as it tried to speak…

"Traitor…filthy…"

"_You shut your mouth!"_ A blast of white light slammed into Kreacher, throwing him violently against the wall, out of the line of sight of Harry's now terrified relatives. "You have the _guts_ to call me traitor – I'll shut you up – "

The fireplace in the kitchen suddenly filled with green flames, and a battered-looking forty-year-old man stumbled into the kitchen. Sighting Harry, who was now muttering a curse, his wand shaking with anger, the man strode for him, calling out.

"_Harry!"_ The boy started, pointing his wand at the newcomer and incanting a red beam of light that struck the man so that he fell down, looking thoroughly dead to the world. Aunt Petunia finally began to shriek, fearing her nephew would turn on them next. Kreacher took the opportunity to drag himself under a nearby table, still shaking from what Harry had done to him. Meanwhile, Harry had rushed to the man, first relieving him of his wand, then, on turning him over, gasped in surprise.

"You _murderer_ – "

"Keep it down, will you? He's not dead," Harry shot at his Aunt, pointing his wand at the man and starting to incant something. He stopped short, seeming to change his mind, and motioned to the Dursleys, who were rooted to the spot. "Stand back – it could be anyone – _Rudentis ligo_ – _ennervate_ – "

Ropes flew from the end of Harry's wand, binding the man tightly even as he choked down a breath of air and started, finding Harry's wand at his throat. "Harry – thank _god_ you're alright…"

"What important spell did you teach me during third year at Hogwarts, and why?" Harry demanded, his wand steady.

"The Patronus Charm – and because you wanted to be able to deal with them in case they ever attacked you at a Quidditch match again – "

"Wait – someone could've known that – what did I hear during those lessons?"

The man stilled, his face paling. "Your – your parents being murdered by Voldemort." His voice softened at the end, eyes locking with Harry's. Harry sighed again, worrying at his lip.

"One last thing – what did I do after – after Sirius died, at the Department of Ministries…?" The man gulped, looking worried.

"I'm not sure, Harry – you ran off, and – " The ropes binding him disappeared, and Harry helped him to his feet. "Harry – about Kreacher – "

"I don't want to – "

" – you inherited him. With the house – from – from – from Sirius." The man, who Harry now knew to be Remus Lupin, friend of his dead father, clasped him on the shoulder comfortingly. Harry looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged the hand gently off.

"It's okay." He said, in a tone of resignation. Lupin peered sharply at him, before ordering Kreacher out of the kitchen in a stern tone.

"Go to your cupboard – "

At Kreacher's shaking and muttering, Harry stepped back toward him, looking positively furious once more. "Get out – or I _will_ kill you." The vengeful house-elf eyed Harry's unflinching stance for a minute, then hurried from the kitchen, ignoring its obvious discomfort. Harry spun back towards Remus, anger gone, worry and excitement in its place.

"Remus – five Death Eaters just showed up – I did the first thing I could think of – "

"It's alright, Harry, I know," Lupin said, shoulders sagging as he took a seat at the forbidding kitchen table.

"You – _you_ know what happened to our house?" Petunia demanded, shuffling a few feet toward them, evidently only brave enough to fidget in the doorway. Remus nodded, and extended a weary hand to them.

"Come, sit down – it concerns all of you, too." Harry took a seat opposite him as Vernon, Petunia and Dudley nervously drew closer. Remus sighed, and began.

"There've been at least ten or twenty attacks tonight, Harry. Everyone's been running here and there, trying to get hold of survivors and help defend certain strategic places – that's why no one's here. We couldn't spare anyone to stand watch for too long at a stretch. I was in east Surrey with Dumbledore trying to help round up the survivors of an attack when the wards around your house," he shot a sympathetic look at Aunt Petunia "failed. We all of us panicked, but Dumbledore told us to stay there, and told _me_ to return here as fast as possible to meet you if you arrived safely. There wasn't a wizarding home or office within five or ten miles of the place, so I had to apparate in jumps towards the Ministry of Magic, and use a Floo office nearby. Dumbledore didn't want any of us apparating in here, because of the spies in the Department of Magical Transportation we know – you can easily trace apparition signatures, you know." Remus paused for air, then continued.

"Flooing in here is much safer, because Voldemort's intelligence has not, to our knowledge, infiltrated the network. The fact that this house is also Unplottable and under the Fidelius helps a lot – you can't floo to a place you don't know. And that," Lupin finished wearily, "is why I am here."

"What about our house?" Vernon Dursley demanded, sitting down near Remus with a _thump_. "Breath Eaters attacked it, you say..?"

"Death Eaters got through the magical protections Dumbledore placed on your home, yes," Lupin answered patiently, obviously trying not to take offence at the fat man's rude tone. "_How_ they did that is still to be discovered."

"Dumbledore doesn't know why?" Harry demanded, eyes widening. "I didn't do anything – I tried not to think of anywhere else as my home or call anywhere else that, if you know what I mean – "

"Is _that_ how they work?" Lupin said worriedly. "Sounds a bit iffy, such important wards depending soley on your thoughts…" Lupin thought for a minute, then sighed. "I'm sure Dumbledore made sure they relied on something more substantial, so it couldn't have been you – or at least, I don't think it was – "

The fireplace _whooshed_ with green flames again, this time a man dressed in flowing – if slightly dirty – purple robes stepped out, looking immensely worried.

"Harry! Ah, I see you made it here safely…" It was Dumbledore, looking so relieved and weary that it was slightly alarming.

"Professor Dumbledore! Remus – _Mr. Lupin_ told me the wards – "

"It's just Remus, Harry," Harry heard his old professor mutter, even as Dumbledore took a seat beside Dudley, who looked _very_ alarmed that such an odd old man was beside him. Dumbledore, ignoring the way Dudley _squeaked_ and tried to move his bulk out of any contact with him, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"Yes, Harry. I checked on them just after the Death Eaters that attacked Privet Drive tried to disapparate and found that they could not – they failed for a few moments, during the attack, but, it seems, repaired themselves right away. Quite remarkable," he muttered to himself.

"They – they _repaired_ themselves…?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Yes, Harry. And, as your Aunt and Uncle will be pleased to find out, the Death Eaters – now in the Ministry's custody, of course – did _not_ manage to cause any irreversible damages to the house. Unfortunately – " Aunt Petunia spoke up then, her tone subdued, but still very sharp.

"Then why did we have to come _here_?" she demanded, peering at the weary old Headmaster. "_He_ dragged us here somehow – did some – some _magic_…"

"Indeed, Mrs. Dursley, Harry did – and he did well. Had you have remained in your house a moment longer, the Death Eaters that attacked you, though unable to hurt you magically, would probably have caused your murder all the same." Harry's relatives all blanched.

"Will we…be able to go back…?" Petunia stuttered, shooting her nephew a look of fear. Dumbledore sighed.

"I am afraid not, Mrs. Dursley." At the sounds of protest that arose around him, Vernon's voice being the loudest, Dumbledore rapped sharply on the table for silence, continuing only once the muggles had calmed down. "Until Harry departs for Hogwarts, it will simply be too dangerous for you. The wards may fail again – "

"But – but where will we – " Vernon spluttered.

"After Harry's return to Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the large man, "any – ah – attempts on his life will be confined to the school, and you will be safe enough from then. As for _where_ you will stay, if your nephew is willing" he shot a look at an astounded Harry "you will be welcome to reside temporarily in this house."

"What do you mean, 'if he is willing'?" Petunia said, eyes widening. Dumbledore gave a little smile, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes.

"Why, Harry inherited this house only a month and a half ago," he replied, pointedly ignoring the gasps of Harry's relatives. "It is heavily protected, and thus, perfectly suitable as a temporary location for you, as well as for Harry himself. Now, Harry," Dumbledore turned to the pensive boy "I need to return to the Ministry immediately. If you have any questions…?" Harry blinked, suddenly recalling something that had been nagging at him since Dumbledore had said the house at Privet Drive was fine.

"What about – what about Mrs. Figg?" Harry's gaze wavered as Dumbledore sighed again, shaking his head. "Oh." Harry blinked again, flopping back into his chair. Dumbledore paused for a moment, waiting to see if Harry would say anything else. When the silence held, he rose from the table.

"Now, Harry, I do not need to tell you how paramount it is that you – and your relatives – do _not_ leave Grimmauld Place without it being arranged," Dumbledore began. Still no answer from Harry, who was staring, numb, at the table in front of him. "The supplies for your sixth year at Hogwarts will be procured for you by the end of the week. If you have any urgent questions or concerns, do not hesitate to owl me." He paused again, his eyes resting on the still young man. "Otherwise, I will see you at Hogwarts in two and a half weeks' time. Remus, the rest of the Order are at the safe house. The Weasleys may be joining you if it is safe to do so, but I doubt it. Use your pendant if you need me…" In another moment, Dumbledore was gone, accompanied by the _whoosh_ of green flames.

Harry put his head in his hands, the excitement of the night finally catching up to him. Looking round at the subdued, yet angry faces of his relatives, he sighed.

It would be a long two and a half weeks.

* * *

_A/N: I heartily apologise for any errors - I hate seeing them in fanfics myself - and am happy to inform you that I _will_ be searching for a beta to help with this stuff. Thanks for reading...

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	2. Chapter 2: The Battle of Grimmauld Place

_A/N: Thanks to the first three reviewers! Rest assured that I'm not going to abandon this for a while – it's a very persistent plot bunny in my head, I tell you. I'm not going to be repeating my little disclaimer, as it goes without saying._

_Now, in this chapter, we rejoin Harry, stuck in Grimmauld Place with only the Dursleys and Remus Lupin for company. However, the battle I refer to is not exactly what you'd expect…Enjoy…_

**Chapter 2 : The Battle of Grimmauld Place**

Harry tried hard to cling to the precious tendrils of sleep in his worn out body to no avail. Even as he slowly opened tired green eyes, the same sounds that had ruled the dark upper floors of the house around him began to penetrate his morning deafness.

"No! NO! LET – GO – OF – MY – SON – "

Harry sighed, wrenching himself from his warm bed with not a little effort. It was Aunt Petunia, shrieking like never before, accompanied by the sounds of whacks and thuds that spoke of battle.

"Wait – calm _down,_ please – " The harried tones of Remus Lupin cut through Petunia's shrieks. Harry brightened slightly as he padded silently through his door, which snapped shut behind him in the slightly odd manner the doors in the whole house had been doing recently. The only good thing, he thought to himself, pausing to look round at the empty corridor he found himself in, about this whole awful situation was the fact that Remus had been with him for the past week. He'd helped as much as he could to keep the frightened, panicky Dursleys from seriously damaging themselves, _or_ the house, which seemed to actively dislike them.

Harry pondered the matter as he slipped through the door at the end of the corridor, heading as best as he could towards the shrieking – which had now been joined by frightened sobbing, of all things. The house was less dour, now, than it had been when he'd first arrived there by portkey at night about a week ago. Bored to tears and seeking to occupy himself, he'd joined Remus in the ongoing renovation of the house after only a day of near inactivity, helping him tear down the peeling, ghastly wallpaper and scrub away the dust and mould that seemed to accumulate abnormally fast. The best thing about the renovation, however, was that Harry could use magic.

Earlier that summer, Dumbledore had told him of plans to petition Fudge (who, though definitely on his way out, had still been scrambling to do anything he could to appease the public outcry against him) to lower the age of majority to sixteen. Fudge had disagreed, but had given a concession, by way of drafting the special dispensation Harry needed to be able to do magic. The fact that he'd leaked the fact to the Daily Prophet, however, did nothing to help his appeal against impeachment, and he was summarily deposed a week later. In his place was a man from a powerful pureblood family Harry had only heard of once or twice, both times from Percy Weasley's pompous talks of parties where he'd mixed the influential and wealthy.

"_The Orwells – bunch of half-Arabs descended directly from Rowena Ravenclaw, with more influence than money – they don't really like the Minister," Percy had put forth, still faithfully calling the fallen Fudge by his old title. "The patriarch, old, grizzled fellow that he is, took it in his head that he'd rather have his son, Phillip Orwell, in power instead of the Minister…"_

Percy had eventually returned to the Burrow after Fudge's fall from grace, or so Ron and Ginny had told Harry. He'd come by Mrs. Figg's a few days after his reappearance at the Burrow, obviously seeking to apologise to Harry. Harry, after grudgingly tendering his forgiveness (only after asking, rather sharply, if he'd apologised to Fred and George, and if they'd forgiven him), had asked him for political news. Percy had brightened and given Harry a rather rushed summary of his tenure with Fudge, as well as the maelstrom that had torn the useless man from his post. He'd told Harry a little bit about the new Minister of Magic before a panicky Mrs. Figg had practically shoved him into the fireplace, telling Harry that the man was working, albeit rather cautiously, with Dumbledore, and, although he did not know it, the Order of the Phoenix. He'd been the only real visitor Harry had had during his three weeks at Privet Drive, as the numerous attacks throughout Britain kept them busy.

Harry paused now, forgetting the shrieks emanating from the door before him, his thoughts straying to the attacks. He did not know for certain who exactly was dead – Ron, Ginny and Hermione had purposely avoided telling him all but the most important details of the attacks. Gringotts Bank had been hit, though unsuccessfully, just a day after Harry had first emerged from his room, and had the most casualties of any of the attacks. Azkaban had been broken into just a few days after the attack on Privet Drive, freeing a few of the Death Eaters that had been taken during the attack on the Department of Mysteries. There had even been rumours of a planned attack on St. Mungo's.

Harry sighed, opening the door slowly. For once, the disastrous scene before him did not irritate or annoy him in the least. It merely made him feel a bit bitter, that the Dursleys were seemingly confined to simple problems such as biting cupboards and malicious drawers, and, occasionally, traumatic travel by Portkey. It was, Harry thought to himself, heading into the fray, put simply, unfair.

"Hold _still_, Dudley – "

Finally, after fifteen minutes of cajoling and forceful shouting from both him and Remus, Dudley's arm was extracted, a bit worse for the wear, from danger, danger being in form of a bewitched sweet tin Dudley had uncovered somewhere. It seemed to have wizard space within, for otherwise Harry could simply not comprehend how Dudley's whale-like arm could have fit inside. After banishing the struggling tin, talking sternly to Dudley and consolingly to Aunt Petunia, Harry and Remus trudged down to the kitchen, already dreading the task they'd set for themselves.

Harry's books had arrived a day ago, accompanied by a demurely dressed Tonks, who Harry swore he'd seen smirking flirtatiously in Remus' direction once or twice. As the two men silently moved around the kitchen, getting breakfast ready, Harry gave a rather flirtatious smirk of his own at his memory of Lupin's red face and neck when he'd suggested the thing. That was another good thing about life here at Grimmauld – various Order members popped in from time to time on guard duty, sometimes flooing by to check up on Harry and Remus and fill them in on happenings in the wizarding world, Tonks most of all. Whenever she stumbled into the room, merrily coughing up soot, or slipped as silently as she could (which wasn't much) through the back door, a pink sheen would coat the Last Marauder's cheeks, and stay there in some form or the other until Tonks departed, taking her bright laughter and clumsy, flirtatious smiles with her.

Harry grinned harder, and, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, paused momentarily in his preparation of the large amount of bacon they always seemed to go through in the mornings. Not a word left his mouth, erased from existence by the crashing sound that heralded the coming of Vernon Dursley. He and Remus exchanged quick looks and readied their wands.

"So he's…?" Remus tried, as the door handle twisted and creaked ominously.

"Yes." Was Harry's short answer. Out of his three relatives, Vernon had been the hardest to manage, his rants and rages one step above his wife's frantic wailing and shrieking and his son's misguided, hungry curiosity. He'd been raging against their seeming captivity in the "ruddy old shack" he called Grimmauld Place. Whenever he decided to stir from the magically enlarged room in which he, Petunia and Dudley spent most of their day, he awoke the house with his muttering and ranting, and often goaded Mrs. Black's portrait into her own hoarse, screeching rants.

"FILTHY MUGGLE SCUM!" She'd shriek over and over again, to the counterpoint of Vernon's shouts.

"_BOY_! SHUT – THAT – RUDDY – THING – UP!"

Yesterday, they'd shaken the drawing room with their shouting, and Harry and Lupin had been forced to take drastic action. Leaving Harry to threaten the portrait into silence, Lupin had cornered Uncle Vernon and stunned him, to Petunia's horror.

"_Murderers!"_ she'd wailed time and time again, until Harry, tired of the ineffectiveness of Lupin's steady remonstrances and assurances, had screamed back.

"Are you _mad?_ HE'S NOT DEAD! HE'S ONLY ASLEEP, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE!" That, and the sparks of frustration emitted by Harry's wand, shut her up. Together, Harry and Lupin had managed to levitate Uncle Vernon's massive, prone frame up the three flights of stairs to the temporary bedroom of the Dursleys, accompanied by a wide-eyed Dudley and a weeping Petunia. Unwilling to waste the precious silence that had ensued by _ennervating_ him, both wizards had assured the frightened muggles that the spell would wear off eventually.

Harry turned back to the bacon, checking it for burns. He tipped the contents of the pan onto the last empty plate on the table, affecting unconcern as Vernon, all bloodshot eyes and quivering bulk, strode into the kitchen.

This was going to be bad.

"I'll give you _five minutes_ to explain what you did to me, boy, and no more than that," the menacing tone of Uncle Vernon came from behind Harry. He spun round, frustration welling up inside him.

"_Professor Lupin_ silenced you yesterday afternoon, not me," he began lowly, fighting down the rising storm in him. As he continued, gripping the handle of the spoon he held far too tightly, his voice became silky with rage. "You woke the portrait _again_, Uncle Vernon, just like we'd warned you not to." Harry set the spoon shakily back in the pan, breathing deeply, calling the calming ocean back to his mind. _Yes. Calm. It's only piggy Uncle Vernon, and I am _not_ going to lose my temper over such a little thing – and certainly not going to let Voldemort inside my head just because I'd dearly like to gut him with this spoon. Yes. _

_Calm._

"YOU – STUPID – BOY!" Uncle Vernon began, anger evidently stripping him of the constraints his disgusting reliance on Harry's kindness had forced on him. Lupin stepped forward angrily, forgetting the bread and knife he'd been overseeing on the counter, but was headed off by Harry, who picked up a fork from nearby and began to play with it, speaking so calmly and directly it was unnerving.

"You should know, Uncle Vernon, that the _only_ reason I'm calm right now is because I'm using a _very_ rare magical," Harry stressed the word slightly, "technique to let go of my emotions. If I wasn't," his tone took on an odd, silky menace, "I'd probably be strangling you to death right now – not with my hands, of course. But that's beside the point. The point is, _we warned you_. And, since you refused to pay attention to our warning, we took matters in our own hands, and Mr. Lupin here stunned you." Vernon's eyes widened as Harry moved forward, setting the fork down on the table unconcernedly. "Neither of us had the time _or_ the inclination to wake you and explain ourselves – we had much more important things to be doing, such as _renovating_ this _ruddy old place_." Harry's hands gripped the back of the chair before him as he leaned toward the now pale Vernon Dursley. "You'd do better to remember that your – your _stay_ here depends on _my_ patience – which is rapidly wearing thin. We warn you for the last time, Uncle Vernon." Harry abruptly let go of the chair, stepping back towards the stove. "The next time you waken that portrait, _I_ will stun you – and I'll make sure you wake up in your bed at Privet Drive, _after_ I've gotten to Hogwarts."

"You wouldn't – wouldn't dare – "

Harry gave him a cold look, disregarding Remus' stare. "Try me."

"The – call the police – " Harry's eyes narrowed, a cold smile rising to his lips.

"And if you didn't remember?" Vernon spluttered into silence, his fat mouth working soundlessly. "Be awfully hard to report what you couldn't remember. Sit down and eat your breakfast, _Uncle_." And, with a heavy thump, Uncle Vernon was seated at the large table, sullenly eating his bacon and eggs between the furtive, apprehensive glances he kept shooting at Harry, who waved his wand towards the fallen knife, which began to busily slice the loaf of bread once more.

"Harry," Remus began, drawing close. "You didn't need to _threaten_ him…" Harry jerked, turning towards him.

"Oh, really? And what would _you_ have done, Remus?" At Lupin's silence, Harry began again, sarcasm loading his words. "Really, I'd _love_ to know – " Remus took firm hold of his arm, tugging him towards the door. "What – "

"Not here," came the terse answer, as Remus cast hasty warming charms on the food on the table. Harry saw, for the first time, the pale faces of his other two relatives as they huddled against the door. "Go ahead," Lupin said, tipping his head towards the set table. Petunia and Dudley shuffled out of their way, and they were in a small side room a few minutes later. Harry jerked his arm, hard, from Remus' grip, surprising him.

"Harry – " he began, but was cut off.

"You didn't need to drag me off like a _child_ – "

"Would you have listened to me at all?" Remus said, then sighed at the way Harry scowled. "As I was saying, there wasn't any need to threaten him like that…"

"Oh, _really_? As _I_ said, what would you have done? _Pleaded_ with him?" Harry made a small noise of disgust. "The only thing he _understands_ is a threat – "

" – and that's the same thing Snape keeps saying about you, and you _know_ it's not true – "

" – what the _hell_ does Snape have to do with _anything_?"

"Perhaps because you're starting to _remind_ me of him, Harry," Remus shot back. Harry's eyes widened incredulously.

"Are you _mad?"_ Harry replied, his voice high with frustration.

"You know," Remus began, voice level dropping to an amused low, "I actually meant that as a joke, but now that I think of it, you _are_ starting to – "

"You _are_ mad..." Harry shook his head in disbelief, sighing and rolling his eyes. "You know, Remus, this is _really_ low, trying to head me off with that nonsense." His tone hardened. "I did what I had to back there, and you _know _it – "

"You did that on _purpose_, Harry?" Lupin's eyes narrowed. Harry coloured in anger once again. "That was – "

"I was _this close_, Remus," he spat out, gesturing restrainedly with his fingers. "I was starting to _feel_ Voldemort _in my head_! If that _pig_ believed what I said, then so much the better – maybe he'll actually shut his fat mouth for once – "

Remus sighed, cutting Harry off. Harry sighed too, in frustration. "I'm – I'm sorry, Remus. It's just this – this _place_ – and here with _them_…"

"I know, Harry." Silence reigned for a few minutes, then was promptly broken by the slightly muted roar of the fireplace, followed by an equally distant shriek. Remus sighed again, a faint smile slipping lopsidedly onto his tired face. "That'll be the post, then…" He headed back toward the kitchen, Harry calling after him.

"Tell me if there's anything for me, will you? I'll be in my room…" Harry started upstairs with a vengeance, going immediately to the mirror in the toilet next to his room and immediately shutting the door and locking it. He turned an avid eye on the grumbling mirror before him, and, more importantly, on the black-haired reflection in it. His heart _thumped_ with apprehension as he stared sharply at himself.

It was _still there_.

He shook his head violently, hands clenching into fists by his side. The comment about Snape had stung at him mercilessly, reminding him of the sudden realisation he'd had a few days into their stay at Grimmauld Place, as he absently looked at himself in the mirror after a bitingly cold shower. It was subtle – the flatter, tidier nature of his usually wild hair; the slightly larger nose, the lips that had started to thin out almost unnoticeably, and the sharper angles of his face. With his limp, rapidly growing hair hanging in his eyes, he'd looked for a moment like a distant cousin of Severus Snape's. Harry flattened his hair automatically now, making sure to keep it out of his eyes. Sneering experimentally, he blanched and shuddered at the further likeness.

If someone knew what to look for, they'd _know_. The problem, however, Harry thought, scowling at his reflection and blanching further at the result, was _what_. He himself could not understand why he'd changed like this in the slightest, and had no idea how to find out why, either, apart from asking Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who would probably just hedge and dance around the question vaguely, like he'd done about the question of the wards for the last week or so. It was still maddening the way he was told so little, sometimes. He'd felt overpoweringly guilty at the beginning of the holiday about how he'd smashed up the Headmaster's office, but _now_… Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying not to think about his festering grievances with Dumbledore, then, looking at them, stilled in shock.

They were – _thinner_. Longer. _Like Snape's fingers_. Gulping, he shoved them in his pockets and made his way to his room, deciding to take another crack at his sixth year Transfiguration text, which McGonagall had strongly recommended he read. And, as he settled down into his bed with the fat book, he pushed back the matter of the mysterious changes to the back of his mind.

_After all_, he told himself reassuringly, _it could just be my imagination_.

Stress, and all that, he thought further, hearing a deep, odd groan, undoubtedly something to do with the Dursleys, from below. He shook his dark head slightly, forcing himself to reread his page. Soon enough, Remus called him down, haltingly announcing the arrival of Tonks, and Harry shut his book, an eager grin rising to his features as he bounded downstairs to tease his old Professor.

And for the last few days of his stay, the mysterious matter stayed where it was – at the back of his mind.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks loads to those who reviewed. The next chapter should be up pretty soon...

* * *

_


	3. Chapter 3: To Hogwarts We Go

_A/N: Insert usual disclaimer here.  
Enjoy._

**Chapter 3 – To Hogwarts We Go  
**

Harry sat down in the empty compartment with a tired thud. He stretched with a groan, not minding, for once, that Ginny Weasley, who had followed him just as tiredly into the compartment, could see him. At least, he didn't mind until she stretched in the chair next to him as well, both their trunks safely tucked away.

It was just so _distracting_, watching her – _no_, Harry told himself sharply, turning his eyes from the fascinating form of the girl beside him. _Keep your eyes to yourself – don't be caught staring..._ His traitorous eyes found their way back, and met, instead of a condemning glare, the slightly sleepy smile of Ginny. Harry relaxed even more, allowing a small smile to come forth. It had been _supremely_ embarrassing early that morning, barging into the toilet yelling at someone who he'd thought was a water-hogging Ron, and found in his best mate's place, the frighteningly entrancing, near-naked form of his best friend's sister.

Harry blushed anew, slewing his eyes forcefully away from Ginny, who was now curling up beside him. He'd run, blushing fit to burst, but not before he stammered an apology at her and received a sleepy – and rather naughty, now he thought about it – giggle in return. Sitting back a little and keeping a blank cast to his face, he let himself see her lithe, partially towel-covered form again. For some reason, he was able to maintain his façade of tired disinterest while his mind ran over the rather pleasing spectre.

Harry sighed now, flexing his too-long fingers, raking them through his hair. Ginny was Ron's sister, and _could be_ nothing else. Or was it really that way? Hopelessly, he tried to think back to their last conversation on this same steadily chugging train – had she _really_ meant what she'd said about Dean? Harry found himself hoping, rather violently, that she hadn't, and that maybe –

_Stop it_, he told himself firmly, shaking his head.

"Harry?" Ginny's concerned, still sleepy voice startled him from his reverie. "Are you alright?" Harry gulped, feeling guilty about what he was about to do. Again.

"Yeah," he answered, hunching his shoulders a bit, hoping that his tone wavered as much as it should. Ginny's brown eyes pierced him for a moment, then closed as she started to drift asleep. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, guilt and grief lancing through him at the same time. He'd done that far too many times for his own comfort – passing off his seeming melancholy or introspection as grief over Sirius' death. While he still ached over the horrible sight of his godfather's fall through the veil, it was not as bad as he'd let his friends believe. Rather, he worried more about the strange changes in his body, which had, undeterred by his horror, continued. Harry snorted lightly to himself. He even worried about Ginny occasionally – about whether she'd thought him weak and useless after the two awful attacks on his mind in the last seven days.

Shuddering at the memory of that insidious monster shouldering his way into his mind, Harry chanced a quick glance at his hands again.

_Still the same._ He repeated the same inward litany to himself, examining the new, paler skin on his arms, which had become more pronounced that very morning. He'd thought about casting a glamour on himself, just to keep the slightly narrowed, puzzled looks everyone had been giving him lately until he solved the mystery, but had rejected the idea, as casting such a transformative spell on himself might speed up the changes, turning him into a miniature Potions professor that much more quickly.

For, two days ago, after a covert hour of examination done in the early hours of the morning, Harry had been forced to decide that he, indeed, looked a lot like Professor Snape if he carried himself just so, and set his face into the dour man's usual sneer. In fact, if his still rapidly lengthening hair fell into his eyes – _it's almost at my chin now_, Harry thought, letting it fall forward – he looked remarkably like – he shuddered further – the son of the professor. It amazed Harry that no one had really referred to it apart from Hermione, whose reaction earlier on the platform had been to exclaim over how _thin_ he was and remark at his height, and suppose under her breath that it must be because he was growing quickly.

Harry's shoulders hunched more, involuntarily, as he thought of Hermione. He'd wanted to tell her for a long, hard moment, before Ron had stepped forward and given her an extraordinarily long (and tight) hug. They'd both emerged from it as red as lobsters, shooting him and each other furtive looks as he talked loudly of his quidditch ban being lifted.

Harry sneered bitterly to himself, feeling decidedly annoyed. His two best friends didn't even trust him with the clear information that they'd gotten over their silly arguing and decided to go out with each other, like he'd been secretly urging Ron to do over the summer. It was simply irritating, seeing them trying to hide something like that from him, and had made him equally determined not to say a thing about the mystery that had been dogging his heels.

It felt a bit petulant, but that didn't matter, he decided again, extracting his leather-bound duelling book from the schoolbag beside him, untangling it from the robes he'd stuffed in on top of the book during the frantic rush of the morning. Soon enough, he was bent over the book, thumbing through it and adding a few spells he'd thought of, and a few uses for them. The scenery sped by, his absorbed reading (and Ginny's even breathing) occasionally disturbed by the entrance and departure of the Aurors, who, at the insistence of the new Minister, were making _very_ sure that the children of the wizarding world were safe. As unnerving as it was to see their hard, penetrating gazes flitting round the compartment and asking sharp questions, it made Harry feel considerably relieved – Voldemort wouldn't waste his resources trying to get through twenty aurors and hundreds of students just to get his skeletal hands on Harry.

Ron and Hermione returned to the carriage with the advent of the snack trolley, which carried one new offering: Fizzwhistle's Lemonade. Harry bought a bottle of it more enthusiastically than usual, wanting to hide his pensive state from Hermione's sharp eyes. She watched him almost nervously as he, Ron, and later on, Neville, argued their chances at the Quidditch cup this year and complained lightly about the Auror guard. Neville eagerly showed off his new wand to them all, and Ginny woke up with a start when Harry poked his wand in her ear. They started a mock duel then, pretending to be Draco Malfoy (who had not made his customary appearance) and Harry fighting to the death.

Just after Harry-Malfoy died a dramatically whiny death, covered in Fizzwhistle's, the voice announcing their nearness to Hogwarts burst through the hysterical laughter of those in the carriage.

"Attention, students: please be warned that there is to be a rapid search of all excepting the first years on the train at Hogsmeade station." The voice went on, making most of the passengers of Harry's compartment raise their eyebrows in slight surprise. The Minister must've pushed for _that_ – it did not seem to fit Dumbledore's rather trusting policy with the school students, but –

"Let's get changed, everyone – we won't have much time," Hermione said sensibly, pulling out her neatly pressed robes. Harry followed suit, ignoring the looks Hermione gave his crumpled robes, but rather casting a quick pressing spell on them before he put them on. He felt slightly peeved by her approving nod – what did she think he was, stupid? He'd _told_ her about all the research and studying he'd done over the summer…

"Get in line, you there!" ordered a stern voice from in front of the small group as they stepped off the train. "In line – quick as you can – no _pushing_, there…"

And so the students of Hogwarts greeted their new year of study, shuffling through long lines to be thoroughly searched by the grim Aurors. It was a rather gloomy gathering, despite the chatter of the students, and filled Harry with a sense of foreboding.

A few stern questions and flicks from the searching Auror's wand sent Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna – who joined them at the last minute – into a carriage. Harry could not help but pause, dropping the contents of his arms, to pat the head of the nearest thestral attached to the carriage – it was much less than they deserved, for helping him so much last term, even if it was on what amounted to fool's errand. Ignoring the pointed looks the others exchanged, he murmured his thanks to the great beast, which shuffled a little, silently, and tossed its head in acknowledgement. Smiling bitterly, Harry entered the carriage and shut the door, accepting the burden of Hedwig from Luna, who had retrieved it from where he set it on the ground on seeing the thestral.

"Harry…" Hermione sighed. Harry felt justified in letting a sneer form on his face, but stopped abruptly when he remembered his looks. He settled for a strained look instead, turning his head to watch the grounds around Hogwarts go by.

"All I was doing was telling it thank you, Hermione," he volunteered tightly, tamping down the urge to ask her if she snogged Ron in a toilet on the way there. They'd think he was being angry again, and that would just cause more problems. As it was, they just gave each other looks. That was fine by Harry.

Ginny haltingly supplied a conversation, and Harry threw himself into it, chattering away about the repairs on Grimmauld Place, where the Weasleys had come to floo together with Harry to a specially created station very near King's Cross, like all Hogwarts students except for first years, who would get on the usual platform the same way. They'd all woken ridiculously early to make the nauseating journey by Floo, so as to get through the first layer of security before arriving on the platform and boarding the Hogwarts Express. Harry had not had any time at all to show them the repairs he and Remus (and, occasionally, Tonks) had made, and he told them now.

"So, we repainted the whole room and just got rid of the furniture inside it," he said of a particularly odd room he and Remus had battled with last of all. Ron cut him off with a statement, as if he was just remembering something.

"I can't believe I forgot this – Hermione, d'you remember if we told them about Malfoy?"

"Oh," Ginny said. "That he's not a prefect and everything? You told us _that_…" Hermione grinned as if recalling something wonderful.

"Blaise Zabini is it – male prefect for Slytherin and everything," she said, sharing a look with Ron. "We told you that, but we _didn't_ tell you what we saw coming out of that carriage – with the first years in it, I think. Anyway, we saw Malfoy terrorising some third year…"

"Pritchard, by any chance?" Harry interjected, leaning forward a bit. "His parents – now, don't tell _anyone_ this – just joined the Or – organisation of Dumbledore's against the war and…Voldemort, and they asked me to watch out for him if I could at some point last week…" All of them stared at him. "Not in the meeting – I'm _still_ not allowed in that," he added hastily. Neville and Luna looked a bit confused, but that couldn't be helped. Ron nodded and went on.

"Might've been Pritchard, I don't know," he confessed. "But, anyway, the boy gave just as good as he got – hissing at Malfoy that his father was a "disgrace to purebloods everywhere". Zabini broke them up when Malfoy jumped on the kid, in the end, but it was still something." Hermione nodded, pleased.

"The best thing was how Blaise did it," she said, just as the carriage began to slow. "He didn't look apologetic or anything, or turn round and shout at Pritchard, like he might've done, last year. He just told Malfoy off impatiently, like he was some nuisance." Harry grinned.

"Would've liked to see _his_ face…" They began to disembark, as Hermione finished the tale.

"True, Harry – he was _absolutely_ livid…"

And, with that, they stepped into the Great Hall, and the sixth year had begun.

* * *

"…and, with that said, tuck in!" 

The clanking and tinkling and scraping of hungry children attacking the feast before them filled the Great Hall. Ron seemed the most enthusiastic about starting the magnificent meal – at least to Harry, who was nimbly spearing sausages onto his plate, being rather hungry himself. Hermione chattered away at the new Gryffindor students nearby, while Ginny and Dean sat opposite each other, having an impromptu sort of grotesque face competition.

"That's not _fair_, Dean, you're not allowed to use your wand…" Ginny complained away, finally starting to fill her own plate. Dean grinned at her – _sickening, really_, Harry thought privately – and started in on his already heaped plate. Harry stared at his food, trying to get to grips with the enormous, sharp knives of jealousy stabbing in his stomach, trying to reason away the urge to hex Dean under the table so he dropped everything he touched…It _was_ only Ginny – bright, smiling –

_Knock it off, you_, he told himself. Ron and Hermione gave him concerned stares, making him realise he'd spoken out loud. "Sorry – just – just talking to myself – s'not my scar or anything…" They shared a worried look, but nodded anyway.

"Anyway, mate," Ron said, round a mouthful of carrots, "what d'you think's wrong with Veron, eh?"

"Vampire?" Harry offered lamely, not particularly caring what he said. Ginny was busy putting her hair into her usual ponytail, always rather fascinating to –

"Too fat," Neville muttered from nearby. "Anyway, he doesn't look _anything_ like Snape – _he_ looks like one…" Harry agreed with the first statement heartily. Their new DADA teacher, a rather fat, jolly-looking man by the name of Romulus Veron, who seemed more like a wealthy, amiable shopkeeper than the vastly talented man Dumbledore had introduced him as, looked no more like a vampire than the Fat Friar. Right now, he was laughing – _rather odd laugh, that_, Harry mused absently – at a joke Hagrid had told the entire staff table. As for the second statement, Harry refused to consider the fear that _he_ would eventually look like, as Neville stoutly attested, a vampire. Shuddering in spite of the laughter around him, he began on a slice of roast chicken, trying to cut it up without looking at his long, pale fingers.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, sharply. All eyes were on him in a moment, and it was all Harry could do not to jump up on the table and scream that he was _not_ depressed any more, and break into a wild jig, amidst the shining platters of good food, to illustrate it. Instead, he forced down the piece of chicken – not looking at his nails, which were now an interesting, paler pink underneath – and answered.

"Just remembering I still have Potions this year," he offered, hoping they'd – Ron sighed, relieved, pausing in his rapid eating.

"It would've been nice to have had an Outstanding OWL, but _honestly_, I'm glad I don't have to stand any more of him." They all eyed the sullen Professor Snape, who was glaring down the table at the still merrily laughing Veron. Harry sighed, really considering the fact this time. As the discussion round him moved on to the OWLs everyone got, he thought about the crisp Hogwarts letter that he'd scanned impatiently, until he came to the portion talking about his scores.

**Astronomy: A**

**Care of Magical Creatures: E**

**Charms: E**

**Defence Against the Dark Arts: O (_With Merit)_**

**Divination: P**

**Herbology: E**

**History of Magic: D**

**Potions: O**

**Transfiguration: E**

Harry had been astounded, seeing his potions score – _outstanding_, he'd repeated to himself many times, forgetting the creaking of the bed he lay on in Grimmauld Place. It meant he could still be an Auror, like he'd fiercely hoped. Even now, with the threat of Snape's horrible teaching hanging over his head, the thought still brought a smile to his face.

"Still can't believe I got an O in potions, though," he replied, after laughing with Ron over his failure in Divination. Ron shook his head.

"Must've been because Snape wasn't there – I'm glad I don't have to do that, anyway…"

The feast ended soon after, and, as Harry passed through the double doors with his friends behind him, the new Head Girl, a stern-looking Ravenclaw seventh year he'd never learned the name of, stopped him.

"Here," she said shortly, thrusting a note into his hand. "The Headmaster said to give you that, and tell you to meet him after the feast," she supplied, at his questioning look. She'd stalked off before Harry could say anything. Ron and Hermione waited slightly ahead, and waited impatiently with him as he read the note.

"Just says to meet him in his office to talk about something," he offered quietly. They all looked at each other solemnly. Harry reminded himself he'd have to tell them the prophecy soon – he hadn't had a chance this summer, what with all the secrecy surrounding his stay at Grimmauld Place. "Could you tell me the password? I'll meet you two in the Tower when I'm done…"

"It's 'sciangetella', Harry," Hermione supplied just as quietly. "See you in the Tower…"

Harry nodded, thrusting the note into his pocket, and strode off in the direction of Dumbledore's office, wondering what exactly the old man wished to tell him, that was so important that it could not wait until the next day.

* * *

"Harry," Dumbledore's cheery voice greeted him as he poked his dark head round the door of his office. "Come in and sit down, if you please. I'm sorry to have missed our conversation at Grimmauld Place last night," the old man continued briskly, "there were important matters at the Ministry that needed my attention, so…" His sparkling blue eyes examined Harry critically as he sat fidgeting in the chair before him. "Your relatives should be settling back into their home at Privet Drive as we speak, and, they now believe that they took an impromptu holiday at Brighton for the two weeks they stayed with you at Number Twelve." Harry started in surprise. "I tried to make them understand the need for secrecy, but, as your uncle was most unforthcoming, I decided it would be better that they not remember their true whereabouts at all." Harry paused for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Dumbledore rose up from his chair, walking slowly over to a sleeping Fawkes, who was perched awkwardly on the golden stand that usually held him, his bright feathers glowing softly. Silence ensued for a moment, as Dumbledore stroked the gleaming feathers of his phoenix, appearing to ponder something. 

"You still wish to join the Order, Harry?" came the sudden question, startling the boy in its intensity. Harry stammered an affirmative answer, hope blossoming tightly in his chest. Dumbledore nodded, continuing. "Remus told me how – how controlled and calm you were during your stay, despite the deplorable behaviour of your relatives," he paused here, glancing at Harry, "and also that you used no less than two restricted spells on Kreacher, the house elf, when he surprised you in the kitchen on your arrival. " Harry inhaled sharply, mouth opening to explain, to apologise, but was cut off by the headmaster, who was already lowering himself into his chair. "I merely state facts, Harry – I make no judgements."

The unspoken 'yet' hung heavy between them, making Harry bristle inwardly at the injustice of this, of _everything_ that seemed to happen to him, around him. He kept his face as impassive as he could, his lip trembling slightly as he lowered his head to stare at his changed hands.

"And yet, you fought off Voldemort's attempts to possess you not once, but twice – the second time in the presence of the very same house elf, whom you could have destroyed as you wished, and passed it off as the influence of Tom." Harry's green eyes travelled slowly up to Dumbledore's piercing blue, which sparkled, now, with a fierce sort of pride. "The question is not if you are worthy of the Order – because you are, several times over – but if the Order of the Phoenix is worthy of you." Dumbledore leaned in towards him, his blue eyes seeming to take on the strength Harry had seen properly in the Department of Mysteries for the first time. "The Order will have you, no question of that – but, Harry, do you _really_ wish to join?"

Green eyes met blue, shining, unknowingly, with the same strength that rolled off Dumbledore in waves. Harry's face seemed to harden imperceptibly before him, and he did not flinch or look away from the piercing stare that held him, Dumbledore's powerful mind seeming to wrap its fingers round his own…searching….

Harry called up the ocean almost automatically – a storm-tossed, heaving body of water that engulfed his thoughts and obscured all thoughts but one: the thought of the word 'yes'.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, severing the gaze, his blue eyes twinkling once more.

"Splendid, Harry," came the answer, filled with a pride that threatened to overwhelm Harry in its intensity. "You will join at Christmas, then, with the other new recruits."

"New…recruits?" Harry asked, eyes widening with curiosity.

"Yes, Harry – from Romania, and various parts of Britain – people that have felt shamed by their refusal to see the truth, and now wish to help us in any way they can. Some may be spies, of course – but none of them will have access to our most precious secrets until we can be absolutely sure of them." Dumbledore removed his pearly glasses, cleaning them with a flick of his wand. "There are plans…set in motion, that will not come to fruition for a while, as they depend on the information we receive of Voldemort's actions. If they concern you, or the Prophecy," he paused here, giving Harry a searching glance, "you will be informed. For now, I deem your progress in Occlumency fit to guard you from false visions from Voldemort, _but," _Harry's face fell, "you will need to continue your lessons with Professor Snape in a few week's time. He will also teach you the basics of Legilimency, if your progress is swift enough."

"Why can't you teach me, Professor?" Harry said, quietly, staring at his hands once more. _More lessons with _Snape_, of all people…_ "I don't even think Sna – Professor Snape would be willing to teach me…"

"I am far too busy, Harry, to be here as often as is needed for your lessons," Dumbledore began. "And your Professor is really more proficient at Occlumency than I am, so he is the best instructor for you. As for his acquiescence, he agreed when I informed him of your progress, Harry," Dumbledore finished, sternly. "On the condition that you apologise for invading his memories – "

"I've already _done_ that – " Harry began. That had been one of the first letters he'd written, this summer –

"Then it is simple – you will meet him, in two weeks' time, on Mondays, Thursdays and Sundays, in the evenings." Dumbledore finished. His eyes locked with Harry's for a moment, then looked down at his old, wrinkled hands. "I am sorry I cannot help you with this, Harry, but there are some things, difficult things, that you will have to face on your own."

Harry rose, anger bubbling inside him, but under firm control. The water seemed to swirl in his brain, shielding his building anger from notice. "May I be excused?" he offered the words, as politely as possible. Dumbledore nodded, the small action steeped in regret. Harry strode out curtly, the anger fighting to be released. Abruptly, he turned, heading for the Room of Requirement, outside which he thought hard of something, _anything_ to let out his frustration on.

He stepped inside, to meet a blank, grim room lined with white dummies, arranged as if in combat. Harry snarled at the empty room, unleashing his fury in his mock-duel against everything within the room. Adrenaline pumped through his slim frame, directing him to cast the most horrible curses he knew – and some he didn't. And, when the room was a mess of broken, twisted dummies, some leaking their puffy filling out onto the floor, the walls blackened with spellfire, Harry sank into a ball and wept.

Dumbledore's last, searing look of useless regret occupied him till the morning hours, lying awake in his four-poster in Gryffindor tower, after an evasive, shortened conversation with Ron and Hermione in the common room below.

* * *

_A/N: Hi everyone - do tell me if I've got the characterisation right and everything. Chapter 4 may be even longer than this one, as it fits in a lot, so bear with me if I take a while to update. If I take more than three or four days, know that I either have a case of writer's block, or am writing Chapters 5 and 6 as well as Chapter 4 - chapter 6 is half finished, already, as it concerns a very important letter you can all see coming. Till then...

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_


	4. Chapter 4: Curiouser and Curiouser

_A/N: Right, usual disclaimer applies. Thanks to those who have reviewed! _

_Now, as for this chapter, this is where we take a little look into how crap Harry's life is becoming, as we follow him into an odd detention with the slightly creepy Romulus Veron, and the first signs of wear and tear showing in Harry's relationship with Ron and Hermione. At the end of his tether by the end of the day, Harry receives a mysterious letter that might just be the answer to his questions…_

**Chapter 4: Curiouser and Curiouser**

Harry looked down at the timetable before him, and sighed. _Whoever came up with the idea of Potions on a Friday afternoon should have been shot. Preferably beforehand,_ he thought to himself, mixing and adding ingredients furiously.

Professor Snape had returned to his favourite pastime of picking on Harry, and had berated him for ten minutes about _one_ ingredient he'd apparently ground wrong. Harry had held on to the vast, calming ocean of Occlumency, keeping his face blank and nodding contritely, which threw Snape off slightly. Hermione, frantically stirring her own potion beside him, had looked relieved that she wouldn't have to clutch at Harry's robe sleeve, and mutter her usual litany of "ignore him – ignore him". Harry smirked a little to himself, momentarily forgetting that he would be the last to finish his Heal-all Salve. He added a handful of the reground eye of newt, the last ingredient, and began to stir – clockwise once, counter clockwise three times.

Harry refrained from muttering the instruction to himself, feeling the sharp black eyes piercing into his back. He stirred as slowly as he could, remembering the instructions from the book – he'd read the relevant chapters last night in the common room, shocking Hermione and traumatising Ron – which said to finish the potion carefully, taking your time.

"That is no _broth_, Potter! Finish your slothful stirring and hand your potion in, this minute!" Harry gritted his teeth, keeping back the rude remark that always seemed to be ready at his lips these days. He speeded up a tiny bit, then began to painstakingly fill a vial to hand in. Although he'd progressed in keeping his temper around everything and everyone these days, it was still extremely difficult around Snape, who seemed hell bent on prying apart the growing, pulsing doors that shut in his residual anger. _Breathe_, Harry admonished himself, calmly stopping up the vial as Snape continued to make acerbic remarks concerning sloth-like humans. _Show no fear_.

Suddenly, as he approached the table, remembering at the last minute to cast a shielding charm on his vial, the potion cauldron exploded brilliantly, setting fire to his desk and many of the surrounding potions. Harry acted instantly, raising containment wards around the blazing fire as students scrambled hastily out of the way of the flames. A loud snicker could be heard behind him, and then, a muttered spell in the direction of the slowed flames that made Harry panic.

"_Aqueus…"_ Harry started to shout in denial, but the spray of water had already hit his smoking, flaming potion, which exploded again, more violently than before.

"_GET DOWN!"_ the voice of Severus Snape bellowed at the shocked students, as the flames ripped through Harry's already shaky wards. "_Sabulum crea!"_ the professor incanted immediately, sending a wave of recognition through Harry. A sand spell – _of course_ – the potion was flammable, and adding water only spread its flames, once ignited…a wave of dread washed over Harry, realisation dawning on him. _Someone did this on _purpose_ – with my potion…_ The flames died down immediately under the showers of sand, and a scene of utter devastation unfolded around Harry's desk. Hermione, who had dived for cover well away from his cauldron, was shaking and covered in soot and dust, as were most of the students nearest to Harry. Harry looked behind him, only to see the smirking visage of Draco Malfoy, who gave him a malicious wink, sidling off to his unharmed desk. He knew immediately, then, that he'd been set up.

"Sir," Harry began turning to his professor, insides churning with fear, but the livid Severus Snape cut him off.

"You _stupid boy_," Snape snarled, coming far too close for Harry's comfort. Almost on instinct, the ocean materialised in Harry's mind, and he detachedly noted that the Potions Master's hair wasn't so much naturally greasy as merely unwashed. A foolish sense of gladness rose in him – he'd been able to manage _that_, at least, washing his hair on time –

"It wasn't me, sir," Harry said, as calmly as he could, trying to prevent a note of fear from entering into his voice. "I didn't have time to _do_ anything to my potion – or add an explosive to it – "

"You could have _injured_ your class members, Potter! Destroyed school property – " Snape's voice steadily rose, his eyes glinting with malice and anger. Harry stoutly continued, determined to at least speak his case.

"I raised a Containing Ward as quickly as I could – someone incanted water at it behind me – I couldn't do anything – the flames shredded my wards…" Harry felt himself babbling, but could not stop. Snape was staring at him with a hint of shock, which hardened into angry resolve.

"Detention, Potter." Harry closed his eyes, fighting down the anger with waves of cool water. "You will serve it with Professor Veron tonight at seven o'clock – I have more important concerns at that time than to watch you grind beetles for an hour. Class dismissed – _not you_, Potter. You'll stay behind and clean up the mess you made."

It was all Harry could do not to scream, as Malfoy passed by him, smirking victoriously. He suppressed the urge as best as he could, tersely waving away Hermione's consoling look and question.

"I'll meet you in Defence…go on without me…" She sighed and left the dungeon, leaving an even wearier Harry in her wake.

Without looking at the still-scowling, forbidding professor, Harry surveyed the damage – thankfully, it was nothing he couldn't fix – and began to clear away the sand and soot that remained in his cauldron and in the other battered, burned ones nearby. Snape sat down at his desk, scribbling something, but Harry refused to look at him, stubbornly facing his task, dread starting to fill his chest.

_It's bad enough to have detention tonight_, Harry thought to himself, silently accepting the notes to take to the Defence teacher, as well as the nasty comments that accompanied them, _but to have it with_ Veron…He sighed again, jogging off down the corridors, hoping he wouldn't be too late. He then realised that, if he was late enough, Veron might not pick him _again_ for a demonstration, and slowed his jog to a brisk walk. Romulus Veron had made a rather impressive showing in the first class, full of excited students from all four Houses (as was the case this year), until he began fawning over Harry. It had been nothing serious – just an overly bright smile and inquiries as to how his life was going, enough to set the eyes of everyone in the class rolling, but nothing too embarrassing. The problem, Harry thought, finally rounding the corner into the corridor where the larger, brighter Defence class resided, was that he did much the same thing the next lesson. And the next.

And the next. It was a maddening pattern, driving Harry to experiment with seating positions and various times of arrival. He'd sat in the most obscure corners of the class, wedged between a giggling Ron and Hermione – _they always seem to do that now_, he muttered to himself – and tried coming in at all manner of times. He'd even tried being silent the whole lesson, to no avail – the irritating man would simply smile his now sickening smile, and ask if Harry would _kindly_ answer this question, or _do us the honour_ of demonstrating that technique. Many students could be heard muttering in disgust and disbelief each time a flaming Harry rose to demonstrate or reply to a question _again_, and it only added to his embarrassment.

Harry had given up on ever being allowed to actually sit through the class and learn something without interruption when he'd been deliberately rude to the awful man, and nothing had changed. Hermione had given him a long lecture last night when he'd wondered aloud what would happen if he didn't show up, so, for now, there was no escaping Romulus Veron's odd attentions.

"Yes, Mr. Finnegan, but I'm afraid your answer is _not quite_ correct – ah, Mr. Potter," Romulus beamed, his tone of bored irritation changing to one of pleasure on sighting Harry's reluctant entrance. Harry nodded curtly, ignoring Hermione's anxious look and making for a seat at the back of the room, before he was brought to a halt by the man's mincing words. "Would you be so kind as to tell us the difference between the shield spell, _Protego_, and its higher variants…?" Harry cringed, wondering _why_ this man seemed to like him so much. He answered as shortly as he could, continuing to focus on the seat his sharp eyes had found at the back of the room.

"The higher variants of _Protego_ require more magical strength and skill, and can protect you from a larger amount of curses, hexes and jinxes." Harry intoned, his voice in the monotone he now favoured in this lesson. He turned round, fingering the notes he clutched in his right hand, suddenly longing to be back in the dungeons, with someone who _didn't_ like him. The smile on Veron's face widened even further, to Harry's disgust. "For instance, the highest variant, called _Protego vitalis_, uses a portion of the life force of the incanter to protect whatever object or being its caster desires. If performed wrongly, or hit by one of the upper levels of restricted curses, it can kill the caster. _Protego_, on its own, cannot harm the caster as much, if used incorrectly, and carries less risk, and only uses a small amount of its caster's magical strength. However, it cannot stop as many curses as its higher, more risky variants, which have a greater capability in that direction. Sir." Harry stepped forward against his own inclination, coming face-to-face with his smiling Professor, handing him the two notes. "My excuse for tardiness and the notice of my detention, from Professor Snape, sir," he added brusquely, disgusted that the man hadn't even so much as _asked_ him why he was late. Harry moved swiftly to his chosen seat, wilfully ignoring the cheery nod Professor Veron gave him, and feeling angry at how bad the day was turning out.

Unfortunately for him, it was about to get worse.

An hour and a half, fifteen answers (three of them wrong ones) and five demonstrations later, Harry was stomping down to the Great Hall for dinner, feeling decidedly bitter about his lot in life, and thinking up ways to kill both Veron and Professor Snape. A note from Dumbledore at breakfast informed him that his Occlumency lessons would be beginning this evening at eight – barely giving him enough time to extract himself from the fat clutches of Veron and get himself into the dungeon classroom of Professor Snape. Hermione and Ron hung back behind him a bit, chattering quietly about something, incensing him even more with their secret looks and sighs and giggles.

Harry plonked himself at the far end of the Gryffindor table, as near as possible to the double doors, bitterness welling up in him like a flood. His _friends_ had still not seen fit to tell him about their burgeoning relationship, and still tiptoed about him spectacularly, the furtive glances in high evidence. They sat down on either side of him carefully, trying to make it appear that they did not want to sit together. Harry stabbed his slice of pork viciously, causing them to exchange yet another worried look.

Somewhere within him, he knew it might possibly be all just a huge misunderstanding, but right now, he could not care less. They _owed_ it to him, should have trusted him enough to tell him to his face about an event he'd seen coming for a long time. The feeling of betrayal in him grew, feeding his anger.

"Harry!" Hermione's shocked voice brought him crashing back to earth, and he suddenly realised that the plates and cutlery around him were rattling with the force of his anger. Closing his eyes, he forced the anger back, using the lashing, tumultuous waves of his mind like a whip. _Just a few hours – you'll let it out later, in the Room of Requirement. Just a few hours_…

Harry's breath slowed from the quick rasp it had unknowingly become, and the plates around him ceased to rattle. Gulping convulsively, he looked at his friends. Ron's eyes were wide with astonishment and fear, and so were Hermione's. And, what was infinitely worse – the fearful expressions around him were overlaid with something else, that was like poison to Harry's seething self – _pity_. Even _Ginny_ was looking at him – and _Dean_ –

Harry got up shakily, grabbing the two remaining rolls on his plate, shaking his head as lightly as he could, trying to dispel the insidious thoughts that came to the fore.

_They pity you – imagine what they're thinking, "poor bloke – gone crazy after losing his godfather – good for nothing now, poor chap"_…

"I have to go," Harry said, surprised at the neutral, even quality of his voice. Breathing hard, he stepped back from the table, stumbling slightly over his chair, and was gone before either Hermione or Ron could say a word. Many students turned to watch his stumbling, jerky movements as he half-walked, half-ran from the Great Hall, bumping clumsily into Neville on his way. "Sorry," he muttered, over and over again, until he did not bump into someone – he tripped and stumbled – over something that seemed like a leg. Harry was down on the floor for an instant, and rearing up, wand in hand, exuding menace and something that could pass for blind rage.

The surprised, blinking visage of Malfoy came into view, directly in his way. Harry started to shake, and became afraid of what he could – and perhaps, _would_ do if he didn't get somewhere and work out the swirling, seething anger inside him.

"Out of my way," Harry whispered, his eyes shining with such intensity that a slightly shaken Malfoy obeyed him, without thinking. Not giving the perplexed blond Slytherin any chance to compose himself and get back to the gloating he'd evidently been about to do, Harry strode off, turning sharply and bounding up the stairs, heading with a singular purpose for the Room of Requirement. He couldn't very well show up for his detention with Veron, frothing at the ears –

Thirty minutes of rather violent duelling later, a markedly more relaxed Harry Potter strolled down the corridor leading to the Defence classroom, and entered, knocking once. Stopping short, Harry stared at the class – tables and chairs lay here and there, bent with damage and blackened with soot and spellfire. The walls were marred with blotches of colour and soot similar to those he'd left behind him in the resourceful Room of Requirement, and the duelling platform at the front of the class lay, literally, in pieces.

"Harry!" a voice exclaimed, the excitement in it making the owner of the name cringe and shudder. The man was worse than _Colin Creevy_ –

"Professor Veron?" Harry ventured, eyeing the damage. "I'm here for my detention…" The fat man appeared in the doorway leading to his office, looking visibly rumpled.

"Yes, yes…I thought the task of cleaning the classroom would suit – just finished a particularly strenuous practical lesson with my seventh years…" Veron mopped his brow, looking rather tired. For a moment, Harry felt sorry for him – he imagined having to supervise more than fifty eager teenagers at duelling, and shuddered. If it was anything like what he did to the dummies in the Room, which went far beyond the cheerful chaos of the D.A., he could justifiably feel pity for the man. "…only use minor spells…that should stretch it out…careful…" the man was saying now. Harry nodded and got to work with a will.

Forty-five minutes later, all of Harry's small sympathy for Veron was gone. The man was behaving so _oddly_ – following him around and giving hints, instead of doing something like marking tests and homework, or whatever it was that he did normally. Harry gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the man's irritating advice on how to properly move a _desk_ – did he think he was stupid? Weak? Wilting? Harry moved the last desk wearily into position, straightening its legs with a flick of his wand, keeping his face as stony as possible as an almost giddy Romulus Veron congratulated him _yet again_.

It had been fine at first, him telling Harry how to repair the duelling platform – he had had no idea how to go about that, and had been grateful for the help, thinking it would be short-lived. Now, Harry was ready to scream in frustration, and decidedly ready for the clock to strike the hour, and for his escape from the overly familiar man. At least twice, when he was moving a particularly stubborn or heavy desk, Veron's hand had appeared miraculously on his arm, aiding him and leaving behind a niggling discomfort.

"Well, I suppose that's it…" Romulus Veron trailed off the end of the sentence almost unhappily. Harry crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping against hope. "I _suppose_ you can go…"

"Thank you, Professor Veron," Harry said immediately, fetching his now rather dusty schoolbag – he'd taken it with him to the Room of Requirement, and utterly forgot to dispose of it in Gryffindor before getting here – and was out of the door before the now despondent Veron could change his mind.

Harry, for his own part, felt relieved, even as he rapidly descended the stairs leading to Professor Snape's dungeon for the upcoming Occlumency lesson. Surely, it would be better than that awkward, horrid detention with Veron…

* * *

It turned out that, for the third time that day, Harry was absolutely wrong. It had begun shakily, a tense energy roiling in the air between them, Professor Snape tersely acknowledging his receipt of the apology Harry had sent him, his lip curling as he surveyed Harry's dusty, battered robe and schoolbag, which both looked worse for the wear after his angry, solo duel and cleanup of Veron's battlefield of a classroom. Harry had kept a straight face, reminding himself not to sneer, knowing the highly observant professor – who had been giving him a few strange looks in lessons already – would not notice the strengthening likeness to himself that Harry was now showing, with no solution to his mystery in sight. The Professor, as always, had dived into Harry's mind with little warning, and had emerged quickly, sneering his congratulations that Harry, as he said, had mastered the "basic foundations" of Occlumency. 

The ensuing lesson worsened after each spell, Harry gradually ending up pinned between two opposing forces – that of Snape's strong mind, and that of the rapidly building anger and sense of unfairness within him. By the end of the lesson, both Harry and Severus were breathing hard, Harry fighting back roiling waves of anger, and Snape shocked at what had just happened – this boy – _Potter_ had just done something very odd, and very worrying – the swirling ocean-like mass of his thoughts had seemed boiling hot, and had somehow gripped Severus and begun to drag him in, deep into that swirling, hot mass…

He shuddered inwardly, smoothing his robes, staring at the shaking, pale, slightly mad-looking lad before him.

"What was that?" he demanded. Harry made no answer, gulping away, like the fool he was showing himself to be. "Are you a fool, Potter? You _drew_ me into your mind! If you do that with the Dark Lord – "

" – he'll have me for tea, I know!" Harry snapped back, feeling the presence's rotting breath at the back of his mind. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he grimly raised his wand again. "_Wait_ – he's – he's here – " Harry could dimly sense Professor Snape's fearful tone calling in the background as he sank down to the ground, clutching his head, calling up the ocean with everything that was in him. Snarling, the presence broke away, stung by the memories Harry fed it – memories of soothing love, of laughing with friends. It soothed Harry now, bringing him back to his surroundings, back to the dim, dank dungeon around him, and the frantic Professor that stood above him.

"_POTTER!"_ Snape was shouting at him, from rather too high above. Harry blinked, rising up wearily, keeping his features from twisting into a grimace of pain. _Mustn't let him see…_ he numbly reminded himself. He'd fallen hard on his left foot, and lain heavily on it, and the pins and needles of his returning circulation stung. Snape paused in his rant, evidently realising that his student was rising before him, unharmed. "_What happened?"_

Harry was surprised. "Oh, that wasn't so bad – it was just because I was angry that it took so long…"

Snape stared at him incredulously. Harry continued, starting to babble partly with relief and partly with the overwhelming desire to leave.

"…anyway, it's nine now – almost curfew – got to go – " Harry began to back wearily away.

"Potter! You will stand still, and explain. _Properly_." Harry stilled, and continued, still babbling slightly.

"It was just Voldemort – "

"_Just the Dark Lord, Potter?_" Snape shouted at him. "_Are you _INSANE? HAVE I TAUGHT YOU_ NOTHING!"_ Harry's weary figure straightened, his green eyes suddenly clouding over with anger.

"I KNOW!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger and frustration. "Bloody _hell_, I KNOW! I'm _sick_ with knowing he'll get me, ALRIGHT? GO ON – BLAME ME FOR EVERYTHING! Blame _me_ for having bloody _VOLDEMORT_ decide I'm his nemesis! BECAUSE IT'S _SO_ OBVIOUSLY _MY FAULT!"_ Harry's hands balled into fists of their own accord, as he leaned forward, shaking and spitting in his near rage. The two men glared, chests heaving, at each other, for a long moment.

Harry swore, violently, jerking Professor Snape into action. Harry's shoulders sank with weariness.

"Don't say it – "

"_Language,_ Potter." The last two words were said in such a cold, menacing tone of voice that Harry stared. Surprisingly, he shook his head, and continued.

"You have no _idea_, do you?" a strange smile crossed Harry's face for a fleeting moment, and was gone. "Goodbye, Professor." He slipped out of the dungeon rapidly, leaving a shocked Severus Snape behind him.

Severus Snape sat down at his desk, and put his confused head in his hands.

* * *

Harry swung his leg violently through the open portrait door, not caring who saw him. He'd acted like a madman in Professor Snape's office just then, first giving into his anger and following in on the malicious desire to smother the dour Professor with the boiling waters of his angry mind, then shouting and screaming his voice out about all sorts of nonsense. He'd slipped out as quickly as he could, too angry and embarrassed to stay another minute, looking at the man he was so mysteriously becoming. The desire to sneer – just to see the realisation blooming on Snape's angry, disturbed features – had nearly overpowered him, not for the first time. Harry laughed a little wildly to himself, startling the Gryffindors around him in the common room. 

_What would I have said?_ Harry wondered to himself, avoiding the dark looks Hermione and Ron sent him, making a beeline for the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. '_Hello, father'? 'By the way, Professor, I'm your son'? Nephew? Second cousin?_ Harry laughed again, his laughter tinged with bitterness.

That was the worst thing – he didn't _know_ what the hell he _was_ – all he knew, every morning, was that something had changed, and something else would change the next day, and the next…Harry's breathing speeded up as he forced his way through the packed common room, uncaring of what everyone was chattering about. He'd begun to darken his skin with concealing spells – they didn't seem to affect the changes, he'd tested it on one hand – and cut his still-growing hair every night. He'd even begun to wash his hair regularly, almost maniacal in the desire not to let the slightest bit of grease remain in it. It was getting harder to laugh off, harder to hide – he'd need to chance a glamour of some sort, soon, and find an easy paternity test, or _something_.

_I just want to _know, Harry said to himself, silently, as he began to strip off his dirty robes in the empty dorm.

As if by sheer dint of his desire, a small _tap-tap_ began to make itself heard at the window nearest to him. Harry stared at the window, almost unable to believe his eyes.

It was an owl, carrying a small envelope. Harry lunged for the window excitedly – hoping desperately –

The grumpy, bedraggled owl flew into the dorm wearily, dropping the letter onto his blanket, and perching on one of the four posts to his bed. Harry stared at the small envelope, almost unable to believe his eyes. It was dirty, and rather old, and stamped with fading red ink that read, in smallish letters:

**TIME DELAYED**

Harry began to breath faster again, reading the unfamiliar hand that spelled out the oddly vague address.

**_Harry James Potter,_**

**_Gryffindor Tower,_**

**_Hogwarts._**

Harry flicked his wand, turning the letter over and over in the air, examining the scratches and pits on the surface of the slim parchment envelope as he tested it for residual magic. The seal – it looked like the one on some of the things he'd spied once or twice in his vault…. Suddenly, he heard what sounded like the bounding, heavy footsteps of Ron on the stairs, and made a split second decision. Summoning his invisibility cloak and stuffing it in his pocket along with the Marauder's Map – which was nearly always on him now – he frantically searched out and dragged on a tattered jacket and hid the letter in its pocket, so that, by the time the head of messy red hair poked round the door, he was casually trying to coax the stubborn owl down.

"Harry – what's an owl doing in here?" Ron entered the room, sounding almost relieved. Harry spared his relief no thought – his very being focusing on the letter that lay so casually against his chest within his torn, old jacket.

"No clue, Ron – I was thinking – try to take it to the Owlery…" Harry made yet another unsuccessful grab at the owl, and stared at it in disgust, mind whirling. "Listen – I want to go out for a walk, just before curfew…"

"Cool, I'll come with – "

"No, that's okay, Ron," Harry said quickly, edging towards the door. His friend's blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he kept talking as casually as possible. "I'm supposed to meet someone now – won't be long – don't wait up for me…" Harry slipped out of the sixth year boys' dorm, moving as fast as he could.

"Harry!" Hermione appeared beside him, smiling nervously. "Where have you – "

"Sorry, Hermione – meeting someone – walk – can't stay," Harry said, almost incoherently, pushing past her rapidly. Ron appeared at the top of the stairs, behind him, as Harry threaded his way easily through the thinning crowd in the common room.

"But, Harry – "

"Was there a _letter_ with that owl, Harry?" Ron asked suspiciously, calling after him.

"No!" Harry retorted, over his shoulder, not caring whether he was believed or not. "Excuse me, Dean – just going out for a quick walk…" He shoved past a confused Dean, who looked like he'd just come in with a flushed, smiling Ginny. Harry's heart burned with jealousy as he forced himself to climb out of the common room, but he ignored the wrenching, tearing desire to hex Dean, and set off quickly instead, consulting the map as he ducked into a broom closet to cover himself with the invisibility cloak.

Knowing his friends might look for him here, he slipped out as silently as he could, making use of a short passageway he'd never had any cause to enter to get to the floor beneath the entrance to Gryffindor tower. During his search for a suitable spot, he met rather a lot of students on their furtive way to their various houses just after curfew, and was hard pressed to find an empty spot to sit down and read his letter in silence.

Harry had started to give up hope of finding such a place when Peeves came along, bouncing merrily, cackling fit to burst over some prank or other. Harry desperately dodged the poltergeist's stinging pellets, ducking behind an interesting, stern statue of some wizard, only to find a cleverly hidden door there that was not on the Marauder's Map. Growing increasingly desperate, he began to mutter unlocking spells under his breath.

The door remained stubbornly locked. Harry's heart sped as he racked his brain. If he was found here…He began to incant again.

He had to open this door.

* * *

_A/N: Hi people! I know the scene with Snape towards the end might've been a bit confusing, but it couldn't be helped, and I don't feel like changing it now. How do you like old Romulus? Odd chap, eh? (Secretive grin) I'm thinking of taking off those two teaser chapters I posted on my group, just so I don't spoil the story for you all... Also, don't worry – I'm not cruel enough to leave you with such a cliff-hanger for too long – Chapter 5 – A Very Gryffindor Tragedy, will soon follow this one. It's half finished, actually…Till then…

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	5. Chapter 5: A Very Gryffindor Tragedy

_A/N: The usual disclaimer applies. Here, Harry gets into the strange room, and finally finds out why he's been changing. Enjoy…_

**Chapter 5: A Very Gryffindor Tragedy**

The door creaked silently open at the last spell Harry said, and he slipped into the room behind it, shutting the door and relocking it with the same spell. Looking around, he saw only what amounted to a small, musty bedroom, complete with a bare, forbidding-looking bed, and a desk and a few broken chairs beside it. A wide, oval gilded mirror was upon the wall the bed laid against, and Harry could see his misty reflection in it, as he shrugged off his invisibility cloak and hastily warded the room against Peeves – or tried to. Harry stilled in shock, seeing the unearthly green shimmer that took hold of the walls, signifying that the room had already been warded – and heavily, too.

Watching the diminishing flicker of the hidden wards fade away, Harry remembered the reason for his quest, and hurriedly pulled out the letter, heart beating fast.

Harry stared at the letter, now that he was assuredly alone, with not a little trepidation. He opened it slowly, dreading what was inside, having scanned it with several spells beforehand – just in case.

It was rather too small an envelope for such a large letter. Maybe his – his father had spelled it to look that way, so he wouldn't suspect anything important. _Fat chance of that now_, Harry thought bitterly.

As he unfolded the heavy pieces of parchment, a smaller piece fell out, enlarging as it hit the floor of the passageway. Harry seized this eagerly.

**_Harry,_** it said, in a cramped, messy hand,**_ do NOT read this at the Gryffindor table_**. Harry stilled. **_Actually, the main letter will only activate for the first time if you are alone. Sorry, son – this is too important for _anyone_ else to read._**

Harry stared, both at the letter and at his fine long fingers.

This, was truly it. He dropped the now-shrinking piece of parchment back into its magic envelope and took up the larger roll, taking a deep breath.

**_This, Harry, may be the last time you allow me to call you son. I am heartily sorry for how abrupt this letter may seem, coming to you at Hogwarts during your school year, rather than meeting you at home, but I had no choice. Your mother does not know much of the contents of this letter, so I made sure it would reach you at Hogwarts during term-time, when you would be old enough to truly understand and act on what I am about to tell you._**

Harry paused momentarily, then went on.

_**Harry, you are not my true son.**_

Harry paused again – he'd expected _that_, and dreaded the next sentence to follow.

**_You are, rather, the son of one Severus Snape. You'll have heard of him, most likely from me. We were rivals in school, and probably continue in rivalry till this day. He does _not_ know that you are his son, however, circumstances being as they were._**

**_Before I go on, Harry, I must beg your forgiveness – I was, and am still young and foolish, and my part in what brought this about was the part of the fool, who did not know what was going on around him until the very end._**

Harry paused again, the roll of parchment shaking in his hands. He swiped the sheen of sweat off his brow. It did not even occur to him that he could drop the roll now, knowing what he'd suspected for the last few weeks of term – he desperately wanted, _needed_ to know how the whole thing had happened. When the shaking in his hands stilled a bit, he went on.

* * *

**_It was spring, and Lily had just lost her first child, three months into the pregnancy. She'd been on an Order – you'll know what that is, I'm sure – raid when it happened, and the resulting miscarriage was brutal. The healers at St. Mungo's told me to _make_ her rest – to make sure she recovered from the wounds she received both on the battlefield and in the hospital bed where she gave up her first daughter. They examined the tiny thing, and told us both that it wouldn't have survived anyway, and told us we were lucky that this had happened, because it could have killed her during the normal birth._**

**_I took these words to heart, and behaved like it was more of a lucky chance than a tragedy, making my first mistake. Lily grew withdrawn, and we fought more than was healthy, and our small flat grew cold without our conversation. I was frightened then, most of all – I didn't know that the harm to our marriage was yet to be done. We had a large row when I told her she would not be doing any work for the Order for a few months, so she could rest. Lily screamed at me like a mad woman, telling me I could go to hell. I did, leaving her alone in that hollow of a flat, and giving her the space I mistakenly thought she needed. I grew bitter when she continued to ignore me, and my work as an Auror profited from it. I was a splendid Auror for a whole month, and a useless husband for the same._**

**_After a month of avoiding each other and barely talking, Lily began to come out of her shell. She seemed, to me, to have accepted the fact that she wouldn't work with the Order for a while, and was leaving our flat again. She even came with me to look at our present home, pronouncing it perfect in her old, happy tones. I foolishly thought we'd passed our rough patch safely, and soon after that, we moved into the house at Godric's Hollow._**

**_As the war around us escalated, I began to see strange signs of what was going on under my nose. Lily went out a lot, presumably to see her friends – the problem was that she seemed to, a lot of the time, return at odd hours. When I asked her about it, she seemed to agree, and practically laughed it off, and the odd pattern seemed to cease. By then, I was worried, and I began to watch her closely. Then, at the Order meetings, Severus Snape started acting oddly, submitting opinions on our dilemmas that he said came from a 'charms expert' who didn't know whose problems they were helping to solve, whom he worked with occasionally at his research facility. Sirius and Remus laughed that off, saying it sounded like one of Severus' odd, erratic affairs gave him the information in return for sexual relations. I agreed heartily on the surface, but began to panic underneath. For a month I searched and watched and calculated, panicking all the time, and was forced to eventually admit that Lily was having an affair. With whom, I could not, and dared not admit to myself. _**

**_The decision was taken forcibly from my hands at the end of that torturous month, when Lily, my furious angel, finally confessed. We had another screaming row that evening, yelling atrocities at each other, until the truth came out. I admit to you now, because you are far away, that I cried along with her – cried for the awful, twisting mess our perfect marriage had become. She made me see that our relationship had _never_ been perfect, and that it was never going to be. She told me that she'd ended it with Severus that night, and I was fiercely glad of that, and – mistakenly – considered that it was all over._**

**_Some months later, Lily was glowing again with pregnancy, and working with the Order once more. We argued the matter and reached a compromise, that she would sit in on the meetings and not go on the raids. Lily was full of joy those nine months, Harry, and let me tell you plainly that that was due to you. You were a perfect baby within her womb, kicking on demand and letting your mother rest when she needed it. I was deliriously happy then, not knowing what stark truth awaited me at St. Mungo's._**

**_When it was time for your mother to give birth, we went gladly to the hospital. It was a long, hard birth, and I feared for her life. When you were finally born, she was unconscious with pain and weariness, and you were given to me to hold. I saw it immediately – you didn't have your hair already, like the Potter babies, according to my dead mother, always did. When I looked at your eyes, they looked more black than anything else. I became afraid again, and I cast a quick glamour on you, so your eyes looked like Lily's, and there appeared to be hair on your head. I selfishly wanted to ascertain the fact for myself first, before I told her._**

**_Ascertain the truth I did, when I returned to Godric's Hollow with your tired mother and your squalling form. I took a lot of the work of feeding and caring for you upon myself, mostly because I wanted to have you on hand, so I could test your paternity. I dreaded the moment and kept putting it off, but when Lily began to recover from her harrowing experience with your birth, I knew I had no time left. I quickly formulated the _Scire Paternam_ potion, and tested it on you. It revealed what I feared – that you were the son of Severus Snape. Anger nearly blinded me that evening. It was awful to realise that Severus, in _this_ contest of wills, had truly won: it seemed not enough for him to take my wife from me, but also my first son. I could not bear it – I swore then, never to let him know the truth. I cast strong spells on you – a glamour that would last for the next six months, while I researched a more long-term solution. In my jealousy and haste, I made you look almost exactly like I did as a baby, and by the time I'd found my solution, everyone believed your extreme likeness to me to be the truth, and I could not remedy my mistake. _**

**_I cast the final spell willingly on you, binding it to you for as long as sixteen years with a potion containing my hair and blood. It would keep you looking like me until you were sixteen, and mask any great physical change in you until then as well. This meant some minor changes would also be masked, but I knew it could not be helped._**

**_You were my son by then, Harry, and I could no more give you up than give up my wand arm. Severus hated you for many things then, already, and probably still hates you now, and he would have taken you to spite me. You would have ended up unhappy, Harry, caught in the crossfire of our feud, just like Lily was, for a while. I do not doubt that when he slept with her for the first time, he did it to revenge himself on me, and I will never forgive him, for that. If you now wish to try to know him, it is your choice, and nothing I can say will keep you from him, save this – he was a Death Eater, Harry, before he joined Dumbledore and the rest of us. I never entirely trusted him, and expect you to do the same. If Voldemort still lives, sixteen years from now, I warn you that he can always turn back to his first master, and destroy us all from within as it would please that monster._**

**_We are going into hiding now, Harry, and I fear for us all. I send this letter to you in hope – hope that we survive, hope that _you_ survive, and perhaps survive long enough to see a world without fear. Your enchantment has already, I think, begun to falter and dissolve, and the process will be complete in a few weeks from now. It is up to you, Harry, to decide whether you wish to remain as you were before, or be as you are becoming. If you wish to stay unchanged for a while longer, there is a potion that will assist you – it will need your blood, and the blood of your true father, to work. It will work with the first potion I gave you – it is called, if I recall rightly, the _Enchantment Stregnthener_. A heavy glamour will not affect the process of the spell wearing off, if you can cast that as well. The only drawback of both the potion and the glamour is that they use some of your magical energy to propagate themselves. You'll experience a slight decrease in magical proficiency at first, as your body readjusts to its former state, but you'll get used to it quickly. If you finally decide to destroy the glamour and potion that maintain your similarity to me, you will become more magically powerful than before, as well._**

**_I know now, that you are confused, and angry, and not a little disgusted with me, and perhaps with your mother. Please remember that I was a fool in many things then, and, to a certain extent, so was she. We were fools to believe that our union needed nothing but love to keep it strong, and that we were infallible, and could not break our vows to each other. I vowed to protect her and cherish her for all time, and I failed for those few months, irrevocably changing all our lives forever. She vowed to stay true to me, and failed for two months, seeing Severus on the side almost every day of the week. Know now, that whether she finds out the real consequences of her duplicity to me or not depends on your decision, and your choice. _**

**_I love you now, and always, Harry. And I am sorry, too – now, and always. Do not forsake this old fool completely, if you can._**

_**Your loving friend and protector,**_

_**James.

* * *

**_

Harry put down the roll of parchment, still with shock, his heart aching for his arrogant, false father and burning against him at the same time. He read the letter again, not quite grasping what had happened. His – _James_ had been so arrogant – running around, making spur-of-the-moment decisions on the basis of _rivalry_, now carelessly giving him the terrible truth he could have destroyed his mother with if she was still alive…

He jammed the offending roll back into its envelope, trying to gather his thoughts. A roiling mass seemed to fill his head, thoughts whirling around at the speed of light, so he could barely grasp what he was doing or thinking, sitting in here –

_A glamour that fed on _me, he whispered to himself. _Such arrogance – such madness –_ Shaking his head violently, he raised his wand, copying the contents of the envelope, protective spells and all, and stuffing the copy into the pocket of his shabby jacket, shakily spelling it further so anyone else that touched it without his permission would acquire nothing more than a nasty burn. That done, Harry sank to a sitting position, curling up with the deceptively small envelope, and cried.

For his mother, confused and aching and lonely enough to turn to _Severus Snape_ for comfort James Potter had been too foolish and stubborn to give.

For James himself, wild with panic and anger and betrayal, feelings strong enough to drive him to hide this terrible, terrible secret from _everyone_, even from Dumbledore, whom he'd evidently respected.

And, finally, for his true father, his heart eaten away with bitterness at the thought of his rival snatching away the woman who had been _his_ Lily for all of two months.

Harry cried for what seemed a long time, lost in the memories of his confused, fearful parents, fighting and reconciling in the small cottage that would soon be destroyed.

The tears eventually ceased, leaving behind a momentary feeling of hopelessness that Harry soon shook off. He got to his feet, thoughts racing slower now, his mind determining what he'd need to do to prove this hard truth, and tell Dumbledore, and maybe Snape…

Harry burst from the hidden room almost eagerly, strengthened with the truth. _At least_, he thought to himself, _it wasn't rape, or some plan by Voldemort – my – my mum had me willingly…_ He started the long climb upwards to Gryffindor Tower, wondering, planning –

He'd get Snape's blood _somehow_ – maybe during Occlumency, or detention – so he could prove it to Dumbledore, and to Snape, and even to himself. The desire to tell his friends rose in his mind, and was pushed down. They didn't deserve to know – not with Hermione and Ron acting like they were, and Ginny being so distant and odd…Harry's heart sunk within him as he suddenly remembered someone _else_ he'd need to tell – Remus. Harry shook his head despondently to himself, giving up the password to the Fat Lady's portrait without thought.

_Can't tell him either – not yet, and not by owl – it'll break him…_ For a moment, as Harry looked defiantly round at the small group of his closest friends by the fire, his heart burned with bitterness. _Look at them,_ he felt like hissing, _all lost in their happy little lives…and me, standing here, having to _apologise_ for why my life is so messed up that I don't want to talk about it…_

And Harry strode over to the worried-looking group of Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville, feeling icy resolve not to tell them anything about his discovery grip him, spreading through his very bones. The common room was emptied now – they seemed to be the only people in it, at any rate, all huddling together and talking quietly, no doubt about what _Harry_ had done now. Collecting himself again, he sat down with a thump.

They all looked at him silently. Harry stared down at his hands. He wasn't going to start this. In the end, it was Ginny's soft tone that broke the silence.

"We've been worried, Harry – where have you been?"

"Out walking, like I said I'd be," Harry returned easily. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

"Walking _where_?" Hermione cut in, sharply. Harry slowed his beating heart, forcing an appearance of calm onto his face. "You're flushed – what were you _really_ doing?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I went out to have a nice hard wank?" Harry shot back defiantly, suddenly realising how very funny this situation – this _interrogation_, more like – was becoming. They all gasped, reddening at the thought. Harry's cheeks remained unblushing, which he was fiercely proud of. A change he actually wanted to keep, come to think of it.

"Probably not," Ron returned, turning serious blue eyes on Harry, the embarrassed grin fading from his face.

"We'd actually be a lot less worried if we knew _that_ was what you were sneaking off to do all the time, Harry," came Ginny's playful, yet serious rejoinder. "Honestly, Harry, tell us – we've seen it so many times: someone says something you don't like, you get blindingly angry, and stalk off to who-knows-where for half an hour…"

"…and come back looking all relaxed," Neville finished for her, shooting a shy grin at Harry, who snorted.

"Sounds much weirder when you put it that way…" he began, automatically reaching out to ruffle his hair. He did it carefully, not letting any fall into his face, noticing Hermione's bright eyes narrow slightly at him. He ignored the look she gave Ron as Ginny continued.

"…you know, now that you mention it, you could've _been_ wanking, actually," she said, mock-seriously. "Tell us, Potter – have you been wanking to manage your excessive temper?" Harry smiled carefully, having rehearsed the movement a few times earlier this week once he'd realised his smile looked more and more like Sna – his _father's_. The smile dropped off his face abruptly at the thought, and he answered her slowly, more seriously than he'd intended.

"No, Ginny, I've just been….letting off some steam, sort of – you know – getting rid of some stress and everything…" he trailed off, seeing the odd, knowing looks his friends now exchanged. "What?" he asked, a little more defensively than he would've liked. "You don't believe me – "

"Sorry, mate, but what you just said sounds a lot like wanking to me," Ron put in, a lopsided grin on his face. Harry stared at him, incredulously.

"You all _do_ know it was a joke, right? I mean…"

"It's not that, Harry," Hermione said, impatiently. "We just think that the idea of – of doing _that_ may not be far off from what you're really doing." Harry tried hard not to scowl at them, his bewilderment increasing by the second.

"What she means, Harry," Ginny added, pushing shiny red hair behind her ears, "is that she thinks you're sneaking off to meet someone at odd times." Harry's mouth fell open automatically, and he was thankful for that. He wasn't really so shocked – he should've known, babbling about 'having to do something' and 'going to meet someone' and so on. He spluttered, wishing his old ability to turn red was back, so he could make his disbelief convincing. If they only knew just _how far_ from the truth they were –

"You did say something about meeting someone tonight, Harry," Ron was saying earnestly. "And there was that owl as well – you didn't tell me if it had a letter or not – "

"It didn't," Harry said sharply, all too aware that two copies of that letter resided on him at the very moment.

"We believe you, Harry," Hermione said, hastily, darting a quick glance at Ginny. "Don't worry about the owl – we just wanted to say we're here for you – "

"No matter who you go out with," Neville said, firmly, eyes shining earnestly. For a moment, Harry could not for the life of him understand what his friends were so clumsily trying to say. That moment lasted only until Ron opened his mouth, firmly putting his foot in it.

"It's all right among wizards, you know, Harry – no one really cares if you like a blo– " Hermione nudged him violently with a foot, stopping his eager tirade. Ron turned on her angrily, ignoring the twin spots of colour that were now violently showing on Harry's face.

"_What?_" He began, eyes widening dramatically. "You can't think – you can't think I'm a – Ron, are you – are you trying to tell me – you think that I'm – I'm _gay_?" Four pairs of guilty eyes landed on him as Ginny rushed to salvage the situation.

"We know you've been meeting _someone_ – we just didn't know why you wouldn't want to tell us, Harry – we just thought – "

"You've got the wrong end of the stick, _all of you…_" Harry said, leaning forward and gesturing wildly with his hands. "I'm not – "

"Then who are you going out with? You went to see him – or her this evening during dinner, Harry – we saw you leave – "

"I'm _not_ going out with _anyone_ – " Harry was starting to shout, wondering wildly how everything had got to this. "I just went to the Room of Requirement – every time – just to do _duelling practice_, honestly…"

"Oh, come off it, Harry – there's no need to be ashamed of it…" Neville was on his knees now, gesturing excitedly.

"_I'm not ashamed!"_ Harry yelled at them all. His friends looked so horrifyingly disbelieving that it had galvanised him to his feet. He forced himself to sit down again, and to speak lower, so that no one but them could hear what he was about to admit. "Listen – I'm _not gay_, alright – Ginny," he began, desperately, "d'you remember the morning we left for Hogwarts?"

"Harry," she began dubiously, but he cut her off.

"You don't remember me seeing you – in – in the shower?" He swallowed, as Ginny's eyes widened.

"Oh – " she seemed to be trying not to blush and grin at the same time. "You were really embarrassed, yeah, but – "

"Can you think of a reason _why_ I was embarrassed?" At the slight shake of long red hair, he continued, cheeks flaming violently. "God, Ginny, don't make me spell it out – oh – _fine_, let's just – let's just say…you're _definitely_ not a little girl anymore, okay?" Ginny's cheeks flamed to match his, her mouth dropping slowly open even as he forced himself to finish. "And – well, I'm a boy, and it – er – _affected_ me…" Chancing a look at his friends' faces now, he leapt quickly to his feet. "I'll just go to bed now…"

"No you don't – what do you mean, you 'saw her in the shower', Harry? What on earth were you _doing_ seeing _my_ sister in the shower…?" Ron began, eyebrows knitting together in anger. Before Harry could fire back a retort, Ginny cut in, reaching out to pull him back to his seated position.

"Oh, let it _go_, Ron – it was a mistake, he thought I was you, hogging the water like you normally do – sit down, Harry – " And then, she blushed again, letting go of his arm as if she'd just realised she'd been touching him. Harry sat down, the burning of his face starting to reduce. "I'm – er – really sorry I had to – er – make you say that, Harry…" Ginny trailed off, not looking him in the eye. Harry looked furtively at the rest of his friends: Neville was still unbelievably red, as was Hermione, whose eyes now positively shone with mirth. Some of the old anger, previously displaced by his extreme embarrassment, came welling up, and it made Harry's tone a little bit curt.

"Anything else you _need to know_?" he said, trying not to grind out the words between his teeth. He didn't want to think about what he'd just said to all four of them, not till he was safely away with the letter hidden in his trunk upstairs. Hermione sobered a little, looking contrite.

"Sorry, Harry, but – "

"Get _on_ with it – "

" – you said you were going to the Room of Requirement to duel, right?" Hermione got out, her cheeks now merely a little pink. Harry nodded tersely, wondering when this awful question-and-answer session would end. "Did you go there tonight?" Harry paused for a minute, then sighed, hoping they would believe his vague excuse.

"I was upset, Hermione," he began truthfully. "I just walked around for a bit, like I said I would. I just didn't feel like being around anyone after that stupid detention with Veron, and the Occlumency lesson I had with Professor Snape just made everything worse…" He trailed off, noting Neville's blanched, sympathetic face, and Hermione, Ron and Ginny's solemn ones. He kept the weary, worn down look on his face as best as he could, breathing slowly. When no one answered, he rose slowly to his feet, offering a few last words. "I'm sorry if I was short with you – I just haven't been – dealing with anything well, today. See you all tomorrow, then?"

At their solemn nods of farewell, Harry left the common room, rapidly making for his bed, inwardly singing the praises of the new control over his expressions, which he'd had to learn to avert suspicion. He hid the copy of the letter in his school bag, which was still dusty, and the original he slid into his trunk, concealing it carefully in the pages of his leather-bound duelling notebook. Sealing their locations with wards so only he could find them – no harm in being too careful – he shed his dirty, ragged clothes, tumbling rapidly into bed.

In bed, the thoughts of his awkward situation raced through his head, keeping him awake far after Ron and Neville's sleepy footsteps stumbled through the boys' dorm.

Forcefully filling his mind with water, desperate now for some sleep, he gradually felt himself drift off into a strange dream, where he looked and moved and talked like Professor Snape, instead of himself, and he was leering at Ginny across the Great Hall at Breakfast. He'd just walked up to the Gryffindor table and started flirting skilfully with the blushing girl, when he jolted suddenly awake.

_Just a dream_, he told himself firmly, willing himself back into the ocean, and into less clear dreams for the rest of the night.

* * *

_A/N: And here it is, the foundation for my Saga. From here, the main events will start to occur, drawing Harry farther and farther from his friends, and eventually into an unspeakably dangerous situation, near the end. Just for your information, I intend this story to stretch about fifteen chapters long, give or take one chapter. Of course, it's going to have two or three sequels following it, so it's not ending _completely_…Till the next chapter, which may take me some time to put together…

* * *

_


	6. Chapter 6: Desperate Deeds

_A/N: Usual disclaimer still applies. Answers for my reviewers have been removed for now, as is the policy 'round here. I'll see what I can do about putting a link to some kind of livejournal account so I can still respond, though...  
_

_In this chapter, Harry formulates his plan to prove the strange, unbelievable truth to himself, once and for all, with disastrous consequences…_

**Chapter 6: Desperate Deeds**

Harry woke abruptly to the sounds of sleepy bustle, which penetrated through the open curtains around his bed. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he dragged himself out of the bed as best as he could, ignoring the rubbery feeling in his arms and legs. Coming upon Ron, he was extremely distressed to find that he could now see eye to eye with him – and Ron had gotten pretty tall over the summer, too…

Harry slipped agilely into the showers, feeling rather hopeless and worn out. As the hot water beat down on him – making him turn automatically to make sure it doused his hair properly – he thought hard about the letter from last night.

Harry began to soap himself down rather angrily. The worst thing about the whole situation _now_, was that there wasn't really any doubt left – whichever way he looked at it, he was somehow the son of Professor Snape, however skewed James' perception of events could be. Harry carefully washed his hair – miserably thinking it was certainly _not_ going to go away, like he'd once hoped.

_What I _really_ need to do now_, he thought, _is prove the letter right – or wrong_. As he got out of the shower, he started to go over the hazy plan in his head.

_First order of the day – find the glamour James used. Second order of the day – find the potion that James used. Third order –_

No, that was all wrong. Harry dressed quickly and quietly, nodding absently to Ron's cheerful chatter about Quidditch – they had their second and third practices coming up soon, and after that, in a week and a half's time, their first match – against Ravenclaw. Harry really didn't know how he was going to get through all that without solving this whole mess first – he could barely get his head around packing his schoolbag right now, let alone co-captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

It was a sign of Harry's disturbed state that the thought of being Co-Captain of the Quidditch team – with Ron – did not perk him up in the least.

_First thing to do – make the Scrire Paternam potion, or find a spell that does the same thing_, Harry told himself, moving woodenly down towards the Great Hall. _Second thing – show the letter, if it is proved right, to Snape and Dumbledore_. He sat down next to Ginny without thinking, and forced himself to continue _not_ to think about – what he'd said last night –

Dean glared at him from beside a sleepy, tired-looking Ginny. Harry only just noticed, his eyes absently moving between Snape and Dumbledore on the staff table.

_Third thing to do – find the glamour and the potion that will get me looking back like – my fat- James._ Harry tried hard to keep himself from scowling. Really, he could have done _perfectly_ without this sort of problem being added to his already heavy burden of the prophecy –

_The prophecy!_ Harry realised, like he'd done (and forgotten about) at least three times this term. He still hadn't told Ron and Hermione – or even, perhaps, Ginny, or Neville, or Luna…Harry sighed, setting down his fork, feeling overwhelmed. He left the table as quickly as he could – paid for his quick exit by having to endure an overly enthusiastic morning greeting from Romulus Veron – and headed for the secret room he'd found last night. He had some serious planning to do…

* * *

"_Yes!"_ Harry pumped his larger fists in the air, almost losing his page in the huge book before him. He swiped long fingers through his sweaty fringe and across his forehead, feeling justifiably pleased with himself. 

_Looks like someone, or something is _finally_ on my side,_ he thought fiercely, magically copying out the ten pages of instructions for paternity spells and potions he'd found just after midnight. He checked the time on the clock he'd awkwardly transfigured from a piece of the crumbling headboard of the bed in the secret room, which was looking rather less musty after a series of vigorous cleaning and dusting spells. Harry had torn down the already shaky, broken headboard the night before, frustrated with sitting on the bed, and had carefully searched his transfiguration books for easy ways to conjure chairs and desks. He'd found several, and had found that he could easily make the requisite chair and desk he desired if he just concentrated hard enough.

A low fire was crackling in the dusty grate across from the bed – the wood conjured from the remnants of the headboard – and several library books lay strewn around the room, most of them on Harry's handsome wooden desk. Harry began to reread the copied pieces of parchment he now held, and satisfied himself, once again, that someone was indeed looking out for him.

It had been three or four days since the arrival of the letter, which currently lay open beside Harry's quills and nearly empty bottle of ink, looking rather worse for the wear. In his paranoia, he'd made three more copies, sending one off to Gringotts (after soaking it and Hedwig in protective spells), and keeping the other two hidden in the secret compartments in the bedstead, of which there seemed to be many. The original he always kept on him, and the first copy he kept sealed in his trunk. Harry had employed the last few days as well as he could, pretending everything was alright and going about his normal schedule during the day, and feverishly searching for the spells and potions he needed by night.

Harry rose, stretching and yawning, eyeing the nearby bed forlornly. He'd hardly had more than three or four hours of sleep every night, and it was beginning to show – he always slept during the breaks in his timetable, and struggled to stay awake in Potions and Herbology, which were always boring or easy, though Potions was becoming rapidly less so. Due to his feverish search, Harry found he that knew a lot more about the subject than before, and was even more able to spot his mistakes with the relatively simple potions they encountered during the Advanced class, compared to the mind-bogglingly complicated potions Harry had needed to trawl through.

Professor Snape had also ceased to frighten him as much – after all, it was hard to be frightened of the man you were becoming more and more like every day, and who was almost certainly your father. Snape became increasingly irritated with his placid behaviour in Potions, and now watched him like a hawk, an expression of bewildered anger and resentment almost always on his face. Occlumency, and now, Legilimency, was more of the same, with Snape goading him almost every minute of the time, slipping in snide remarks about his 'father' and Sirius, the former subject making him hard pressed to keep down a smirk, and the latter arousing the heavy ache within him that had increasingly lain dormant.

Harry shook his head, letting his hair fly into his face. Sometimes his grief still ached, but it was now pushed, necessarily, to the background, lost amidst his studying and searching and playacting for his increasingly more relieved friends. Once in a while, though, he'd sit down and let it wash over him, leaving stronger determination in its wake. Harry smiled softly, yawning and packing away his tools for what could be the last time. It was the thought of Sirius that kept him going sometimes, and he was beginning, finally, to be grateful for the short time he'd had someone like that – always on his side, and always behind him…

Before the thought could float around to the nebulous concept of having a father, Harry had cut it off – there would be no pinning of his heart on high hopes like _that_, until the letter was proved to be solid fact, and given to Dumbledore. And Snape. And _then_, perhaps, he could let himself hope – just a little, if Snape wasn't too –

_Right – upstairs now_ – Harry cut himself off again, slipping out the door and warding it, like he'd taken to doing, as it was the weakest spot in the wards of the entire room. Slipping carefully and quietly up to his dormitory, he tucked the essential, copied pages under his pillow, warding them before they left his hands, as he'd begun to do, unconsciously, to almost everything he wrote. Stripping rapidly, he fell, unclothed, into bed. There was no time for finding…pyjamas…he drifted off into the waiting ocean in his mind, and promptly fell into a dreamless, refreshing sleep, knowing that he'd _really_ begun to solve one, or even two, of his major problems.

* * *

Three evenings later, Harry went down for his Occlumency lesson, despite the fact that the Halloween feast was only just winding down in the Great Hall, eliciting sympathetic looks from his friends, which he only ignored. The next day – a Saturday – he had a meeting with Albus Dumbledore, in the morning, ostensibly to give him news on Voldemort's inner workings and the real goings on of the war, as the Daily Prophet only reported the barest details of attacks, and admonished the people of wizarding Britain to arm themselves, skirting the question of what was _really_ happening out there. 

_Anyway_, Harry thought wearily, _I'll finally be able to tell him everything I've found…and ask him to help me prove it_. For, Harry had taken one look at the _Scrire Paternam_ potion's ingredient list and slew of complex instructions and known immediately that he'd need help to either make it or buy it – it said, unhelpfully, in the book, that it was sold in good apothecaries nationwide. Of course, ordering _that_ by owl or buying it in person was completely out of the question – _far_ too suspicious. So he'd need someone else to make or buy it for him, and Dumbledore could definitely help with that. Harry sighed in relief – it was good to know the problem would soon rest, at least partially, on someone else's shoulders –

"Pay _attention_, Potter! _LEGILIMENS!"_ Harry started in shock – goodness, he'd not been –

The ocean tried to swirl together over his thoughts, but not before Snape's searching mind viewed the fragment of that thought. Harry jerked, cancelling the spell, trying to slow his heart rate down. _He didn't see anything – he'd be frothing by now – calm, deep breaths –_

"Potter," came the low, silky menacing tone Snape liked to use especially on him. Harry stilled himself, willing himself not to give away the fact that he'd –

"I _saw_ that, Potter," Snape stepped menacingly forward, glaring down – actually, not so far down – at him. "Do you think this is this some kind of _joke_, Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry's heart began to thud alarmingly. _No –_

"What _on earth_ could you need the _Scrire Paternam_ potion for, Potter?" Snape's eyes narrowed threateningly at him, but Harry could see the underlying racing of thought behind that patented glare…Harry hung his head, hoping against all hope that he'd not have to _tell_ him… "_Answer me!"_

Harry gulped, his hand moving toward the robe pocket where the letter resided, then, when he realised what he was doing, quickly away, but not before the sharp black eyes had seen the movement. "I'm – I'm doing research, sir," Harry came up with. It was true enough –

"Empty your pockets. _Now!"_ Harry shook his head defiantly, backing away, continuing in a lighter tone, hoping to reach the door in time. Snape didn't know what he was hiding, yet – and Dumbledore might not want him to know, anyway –

"It's only research, honestly," he heard himself saying earnestly, "It's late now – I'd better go – " He suddenly dashed towards the door, leaving his bag behind. He'd be telling Dumbledore tomorrow anyway – and his bag was a small loss, it had no –

"POTTER!" Snape's dark form appeared in front of him, his steel grip descending on Harry's left arm. Harry twisted violently, a surge of magic suddenly travelling between him and Snape. "LEGILIMENS!"

A flood of memories seemed to suddenly break loose, swamping the both of them –

…_red hair strewn everywhere…_

…_eyes adjusting dimly to read the messy script on a shrinking piece of parchment…_

…_a sneer twisting his reflection until he looked like…_

…_two sweating bodies intertwining, moving again and again…_

…_red hair poking out of the hood of her cloak, as she left you forever…_

…_bleary eyes staring hopelessly at the new changes…_

…_bitter eyes watching a swaggering James showing off his son…_

…_laughing, intelligent green eyes, shining for _him_…_

…_curling up in a ball, clutching the hated letter to himself in a dark, dusty bedroom…_

…_a rush of fierce joy and determination filling him as he copied the pages of a dusty tome…_

"FINITE!" Harry roared, head hurting with the assault. The surge of magic diminished abruptly, leaving the two men panting with exertion, not quite meeting each other's eyes –

"Potter," came the hoarse voice of his Potions Professor. "_Give me that letter – now."_ Harry, still shaking, head still whirling with the onslaught of memories that were not his, reached inside his robes, extracting the original letter slowly. "_Now, Potter!"_

"Ward the room," Harry replied, stead in determination. At the increasing anger in the black eyes, he shouted. "Do it _now!_ Or I'll burn it…"

"Foolish boy," the irate, wild-looking professor began, but Harry cut him off shortly.

"Do you think I don't have copies?" Snape gave him a look. "Fine – believe what you want. I've got nothing to lose by burning this," Harry waved the letter, "and you _know it_." A muscle began to tick in Severus' cheek, but he raised his wand, intoning complex words to reactivate the heavier wards on the classroom. As soon as he was done, Harry dropped the letter, rising shakily to his feet – he'd no idea how he'd ended up on the –

"Where do you think you're going, Potter?" Snape spat up at him, eyes still focused on the now even shabbier envelope. "Sit down _immediately_ – "

"_Make me_." Harry spat back, jerking his bag onto his shoulder. "I read it fine on my own – "

"Ten points from Gryffindor for disrespect to a professor," Snape snapped, rising shakily from the floor as well, holding the letter away from him, as if it was something that could explode. "Now _sit down._" Harry remained mutinously on his feet. "Or remain standing, foolish boy – and you should know better than to think my wards would let you through doors if I wanted you to remain here." Harry dumped his bag unceremoniously on the floor, slumping into a chair as the shaken, still slightly wild-looking professor gingerly opened the letter. Harry stared at his hands while Snape read the letter, feeling completely exhausted.

A small sound made him glance at professor Snape, and wish he hadn't. The man's face had gone a pasty white, save for two violent spots of colour on his cheeks, and he was gripping the large roll of parchment so tightly that he caused it to crumple. Further evidence of Snape's fury could be seen in the glowing, smoking edges of the parchment, as well as in the ominously rattling objects nearby. The burning edges of the letter galvanised Harry into action.

"Hey! Give that here, you'll _burn_ it – " Snape's furious eyes widened as Harry rose and headed to the professor's desk, stretching his hand out for the letter.

"Such concern for this useless drivel, Potter – what about your vaunted _copies?"_ Snape's tone was vicious. Harry reddened as well, but replied defiantly.

"It's the only letter I have from my father, Professor, give it _here_ – "

"_Your father?"_ Snape hissed, leaning forward in his chair. "_James Potter_ was _not_, and will _never_ be your father, Potter!"

"And where does that leave _you?"_ Demanded Harry, leaning in as well. His face darkened further as he watched Snape splutter in impotent fury. "Right, then – _Accio_ letter – _Accio_ envelope – "

"_How dare you?"_ Snape shouted, rising in his seat. "Repudiate me for that – that – "

"_Arrogant scum?"_ Harry shouted back. "Go on – _say it!"_ He swept angrily back in the direction of his bag, stuffing the letter and its contents roughly in his robes. "_I don't CARE! He LOVED me all the same – "_

"AS HE LOVED YOUR MOTHER?" Snape roared back, the classroom becoming charged with their collective fury. Harry spun round, eyes blazing.

"_And what about YOU? SLEEPING WITH A MARRIED WOMAN - !"_

"I GAVE LILY WHAT JAMES COULD NOT – "

"You _used_ her," Harry spat out, shaking. "You didn't love _her_ – just like you'll never love _me_." Snape spluttered, but Harry cut him off, clutching his schoolbag to his chest shakily. "You're already about to renounce me, aren't you? _Aren't you?_ Don't lie – it's on the tip of your tongue – you fucking _hypocrite_, punishing me for _nothing_ – " The chairs and desks began to rattle. " – I don't care, anyway. It would never've worked – you'd just use me too – for _revenge_ – against a dead man who doesn't, _and will never care!"_ Harry's voice lowered. "You're pathetic – "

"Don't you _dare!"_ Snape began to gulp and hiss, starting to lose control. "Get out – you worthless boy – not fit to be called my son – pathetic, _snivelling_ thing, aren't you, ranting about _love_ – talking like you know _anything_ about something you've never had in your _pathetic_, snivelling little life – "

"Fuck you," Harry said, shakily, backing away. "I don't – I don't need this…" He burst out of the classroom then, ignoring the sting of the wards, and the roar that followed him out.

"GET OUT – YOU'LL NEVER BE MY SON - !"

Thirty minutes later, a shaking, shivering Harry Potter snuck into his secret room, not knowing if he could bear to return to Gryffindor tower as shaken as he was. He curled up on the still slightly musty bed, fully clothed, willing his weary, breaking heart and mind to sleep.

Thirty minutes later, an equally shaking, shivering Severus Snape lowered himself into his comfortable bed in his quarters, the soft mattress feeling like stones beneath his quivering body, as he willed himself to sleep, and try to forget the acidic words that had flowed between him…and his son.

* * *

"Harry?" He jumped at the soft voice behind him, spinning round. It was Ginny, eyes wide with alarm, looking like she'd just come in from a brisk walk. Harry looked round, a little wildly – Dean was nowhere to be found. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair – carelessly, now, since he had the glamour – 

Anger flared violently in him, nearly stripping him of his voice. He'd just come back from an extremely violent session in the Room of Requirement, which he'd desperately needed after the horrible meeting with Dumbledore. Harry blinked, calling up his ocean, trying to momentarily push back the memory of that meeting, so he could actually talk. For a minute, all he could see was that old man, _laughing_…

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said, desperately drowning the awful, twisting memory in more water. She looked hard at him, eyes squinting.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, peering at his subtly changed face. There was something different about him, really – as if the angles of his face had just changed – but no, that was ludicrous, this was the same Harry that had emerged that morning, wild from some awful Occlumency lesson with Snape, stumbling incoherently towards the shower, ignoring Hermione's narrowed looks. Harry gulped, blinking hard.

"Yeah," the answer came out weaker than he'd intended, but right now, it was all he could do to keep himself from snapping and starting to pummel the walls with his fists. _Perhaps_, Harry thought wildly, _if I keep talking, I'll calm down._

He did, conversing almost cheerfully with a bewildered Ginny all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, where, unknown to him, Ron and Hermione laid in wait. Ginny talked back easily, not chancing too many questions – she'd been enlisted to find him and bring him back to the common room, along with Neville and a dreamy Luna, who had obviously been unsuccessful. So, all that occurred to Harry, as they climbed into the common room through the portrait door was that it was odd, seeing _Luna_ in there –

"Harry," Hermione called grimly, stalking over to him.

"We've been looking for you for ages, Harry – where've you been?" added a rather huffy Neville, who had just climbed in before then.

"With Dumbledore – and in the Room," Harry said diffidently, starting to edge towards the stairs for the boys' dormitories. He was suddenly feeling strongly like the last thing he wanted to do was _talk_ – about some trivial quidditch match detail, or homework or something – when his life lay in great glass shards around him, knifing him with every step –

"Really?" Ron said, coming up as well. "Neville just got back from there – he said you weren't _there_ – "

"I walked around for a bit, then," Harry snapped back, wondering irritably why on earth Ron was blocking his path to the stairs. "I just went for a walk after letting off some steam, honestly – "

"Where were you last night?" Hermione demanded, her voice raising dangerously. "You didn't even come to _bed_ – "

"_Out_," Harry snarled back, trying unsuccessfully shove past a determined Ron. "Let me _by_, Ron – "

"You stay where you _are_, Harry James Potter!" Hermione began, shrilly. It was entirely the wrong thing to say, Harry still raw from the second shouting match between him and Snape, this time having taken place within Dumbledore's round, welcoming office. He spun on her, furious.

"I'll go where I _bloody well want to_, Hermione – now _get out of the way_ – " Ron shoved him back, looking just as angry now.

"Don't talk to her like that, Harry – she's just trying to help – "

"You can _help_," Harry began, his voice low with frightening rage, "by _shutting the _BLOODY HELL UP!"

The entire common room went silent to watch the brewing storm between the famed Gryffindor Golden Trio, the members of which were now all glaring round at each other.

"_All I want to do is help, Harry,"_ Hermione was shrilling back. "You _never_ tell us _anything_ – you're always tired, always sleepy – we all want to know what's going on – "

"And I'm _telling_ you, Hermione, that _it's not your fucking business!"_ screamed Harry, waves of anger and frustration rolling off him. Hermione went red with anger.

"_It IS my business, Harry!"_ she screamed back, her hair crackling with anger. "You're my business just as much as Ron – "

"Oh, _save it!"_ Harry snapped, shoving past a shocked Ron. "I'll never be as important to you as _your precious Ronnie!"_ He began to laugh hoarsely at the twin looks of horror that appeared on the faces of his closest friends. "_You thought I wouldn't notice?"_ His fists curled even tighter, as he leaned into Hermione, starting to spit out his words like they tasted vile on his tongue. "You thought poor, grieving, _pathetic little Harry_ was just too _stupid_ to notice, didn't you_ – didn't you!"_ His voice went deathly still. "Well, sorry – I noticed. And I wonder why the hell you still have the guts to tell me I'm your business…You decided your relationship with Ron wasn't my business – I think it's only fair I decide my little _secret_ isn't _yours_." Harry turned, storming past his gaping best mate, and ran jerkily up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, leaving shocked silence in his wake.

And Hermione, stinging with anger, shame and betrayal, began to cry.

* * *

Harry burrowed deeper into the covers on his bed, trying to tell himself that what he'd just done was for the best. He tossed and turned, his robes swirling and tangling round him under the sheets, as he thought miserably of what life would now be like, without Hermione. Thinking irrationally, he believed every word of his awful, hate-filled speech, but, thinking rationally, he knew that a lot of the estrangement between them could be called his fault. 

Harry wiped his brow, wearily, wondering for the hundredth time why his false father – he couldn't bear to think of James as anything else any longer, no matter what he said to Snape – had been so _stupid._ Harry tossed again, his mind whirling, finally allowing himself to remember the meeting with Dumbledore again.

He'd stumbled into the round office at seven in the morning, glad that he could finally _tell_ someone else, only to meet a cheerily smiling Dumbledore, and, standing before him, a similarly shaking, bleary-eyed Professor Snape. The ensuing argument had been brutal and painfully loud, rattling the repaired silvery instruments perched here and there despite the anxious mediation of Dumbledore.

However, once the two angry, dark men had been sullenly seated, Dumbledore's cheer returned in full force. His expression only drooped a few centimetres while he read the crumpled, charred missive of the irresponsible James Potter, filling Harry with incredulous indignation. At least, he'd though angrily then, his _father_ had blown a fuse – storming about the potions classroom and screaming at Harry in confusion – shown some proper astonishment, for Merlin's sake. Dumbledore merely refolded the letter slowly, thoughtfully, agreeing with Harry's tentative plan, and commissioning the _Scrire Paternam_ potion from a seething Snape, _just in case_ – as he'd cheerily said. Then he'd stood a disbelieving Harry up on his feet and carefully reinforced the glamour, leaving him even shakier and angrier than before. The old Headmaster had smiled at the both of them fondly, and told them to leave, and to try and get to know each other better.

Harry had wanted to smash every single one of those spindly instruments _again_, at that cheery, empty speech, and had only just managed to jerkily betake himself to the Room of Requirement, where he blasted holes in the walls and floors and through random blocks of granite the Room had obligingly provided, screaming the entire time.

It was all just so _unfair_, being re-glamoured and essentially sent away, to 'go and sin no more'. No real reaction to James' arrogance and stupidity, or to the awful confused story of Lily and Severus. Harry turned over, angry once more. He'd made his way to his secret room and cleaned it maniacally, falling into the well-made, freshly-smelling sheets and sobbing in frustration, thinking over and over again, _did he think I couldn't handle the truth? Does he think I'm too young to understand? Did he not feel upset in the _tiniest_ bit – for me?_

He'd risen blindly once more, deciding to set out for Gryffindor Tower instead, where his duelling book was, so he could take it to the library and study something, anything to take his mind off this awful state of affairs. Or take his Firebolt out for a swift, dangerous fly to ease the weight of his thoughts –

Harry jumped up now, remembering. He'd just go out for a short flight – he slumped back into his bed, suddenly morose on remembering – no one was now allowed outside alone, least of all _him_…

Harry got out of his bed anyway, and pulled out his duelling book, which was now nearly full. Better this than nothing…

* * *

_A/N: (snickers) Sorry, I'm really enjoying being mean to poor old Harry right now – he just seems to have _everything_ happen to him, doesn't he? At least, when I'm mean to him I make sure he can stand up to his circumstances somewhat, unlike many Abused!Harry or Generally-Suffering!Harry fics, where his eyes just shine/glow with determination/nobility/hurt/innocence, and he doesn't do jack st to help his situation but lies down and takes the beating/wrongful imprisonment (which reminds me – I'd like to try my hand at one of those…). No, readers – my Harry is strong, and if I arrange for him to die a horrible death, he'll go, albeit kicking, screaming and cursing. Spectacularly._

* * *


	7. Chapter 7: Round And Round We Go

_A/N: Well, well, well – here we are, with the 'sevitus' or 'severitus' foundation all laid out, with Snape and Harry both confused and hurting from the awful truth. The usual disclaimer applies, of course. Any comments to reviewers will now come at the bottom of each chapter. _

_Now, watch Harry try to deal with the cavernous rift that exploded between he and his friends last chapter, as well as juggle the truth of his parentage and the good and bad that is within, all through Severus' eyes…_

**Chapter 7 – Round and Round We Go**

Severus Snape, at the moment, was highly unsettled. It could be seen in the tense set of his shoulders, in the slightly nervous, jerky movements of his hands as he continued to add, stir, crush, grind and pulverise ingredients for the potion before him.

As one might have thought, the potion was very difficult – and, with complex layers upon layers of instructions that appeared to contradict at first glance, it certainly was. A potion worthy of the Potions Master indeed – but it was not the reason Severus bent low over the cauldron, fingers shaking slightly as he added the final drops of newt's blood, sighing and blinking rapidly as the potion turned the required sickly green. The real reason for his jerky movements and unsettled actions sat not far away, fidgeting in much the same manner as the professor.

Severus eyed Harry Potter covertly, as he had been doing for the last few days. It _was_ foolish, his constant searching of the boy's newly arrogant features, now that the glamour of his false father's appearance had been re-cast, but Severus could honestly not help himself. For all the blistering, condemning words they had traded last Friday in this very classroom, he could not stop _looking_, watching Potter's diffident little gestures, once an open sore that festered in his dreaded Advanced Potions lesson with the nervous sixth years, but now faintly reminiscent of…something.

_Something_, Severus thought darkly, _that definitely does NOT come from that arrogant bastard of a Potter…_

Severus began to incant slowly, watching Potter jerk to attention out of the corner of his eye, as he spooned into a small, shallow glass basin the amount they would need for the test, and methodically extracted the requisite fifteen drops of blood. When Potter came shaking towards him, he seized the boy's quivering hand, turning it palm up, cutting deeply out of spite, growing even angrier when he merely flinched and blinked at the pain, as his own blood went dripping into the potion before them. Once the fifteen drops were within, the insolent boy jerked back his hand, furiously muttering a healing spell before Severus could say a word, green eyes holding black defiantly.

The potion began to smoke gently, as was expected, breaking the two from their mutual glaring. The smoke was nearly colourless at first, then strengthened slowly to a deep, silvery green, eliciting sighs from both of them. Severus was the first to react, angrily Vanishing the rest of the used potion with a word, ignoring the words that seemed to hang between them.

It was true.

Carefully spelling the rest of the viable potion into several vials despite his growing anger, Severus eyed the still fidgeting teenager, who was now leaning against a desk, staring blankly at the silver cauldron his professor was rapidly emptying. Severus muttered another incantation, and the vials began to float. He herded them into his office, locking them away in a cupboard – _Scrire Paternam_ was a rather difficult, time-consuming potion to make, and the seventeen vials he had would fetch good prices. Returning to the classroom, he was greeted by the sight of a thoughtful, humming Potter, who was listlessly putting away ingredients, almost all of which, Snape reminded himself, his hands curling into fists, were mundane, but rather _expensive_ items.

"What do you think you are doing?" he got out, startling the boy, who looked at him with those hateful green eyes.

"Helping…" the boy turned back to his task, hovering the newt's blood back to a spot on the nearby cabinet of ingredients.

"I have _no need _of your _help!" _Harry shrugged, leaving hold of the jar of pickled salamander legs he'd been about to ferry away. Snape turned his back on him, spelling the spattered, grimy cauldron and glass basin clean. He turned round, black robes sweeping spectacularly, to find Harry watching him almost boredly. "What are you still doing here? _Get out!"_

"No." Potter folded his arms, glaring at him. Snape could not _think_ what this stupid boy – "I'm supposed to have an Occlumency lesson this evening."

"And _who_ will teach you?" Snape strode over, shaking with anger. "If you _think_ – "

"Dumbledore said – "

"_Professor_ Dumbledore!"

"_Dumbledore_," Potter ground out, eyes flashing with anger, "said you were to _continue the lessons_." Snape opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off. "You don't believe me? _Ask him_." Snape held the gaze of the boy before him for a moment, then turned, stomping back into his office.

He emerged, moments later, _quivering_ with fury.

"It _appears_," he managed to grind out, face contorted in anger, "that you were correct. _Legilimens!"_

_

* * *

_

Thirty minutes later, both men were sweating copiously, but considerably less furious at each other – the hard practice left no room for emotions, as Snape first put Potter vigorously through his paces, attacking his mind without pause, then ordering him to return the favour, which the boy did, all too willingly. Snape, for his own part, had been turning over Potter's seeming aversion to calling the Headmaster by his title, and now, in the break between the boy's considerably less pathetic attempts to enter into his own, heavily occluded mind, decided he had nothing to lose by broaching the subject.

In a proper manner, of course.

"Why do you not give the Headmaster his proper title, Potter? Or do you think yourself _above_ such _simple_ manners that…" Severus Snape trailed off in bewilderment – the boy was _chuckling_ –

"Can't even ask a simple question without insulting me, can you?" the boy got out, between his chuckling.

"I fail to see what _amuses_ you so, Potter," the Potions Master said, disdainfully lowering his wand. Potter eyed him, almost _calculatingly_, for a moment, then spoke, seeming to measure his words.

"Er – let's just say…you're not the _only_ one who left his office last weekend, frothing at the ears." His face darkened as he spoke, tightening the grip on his wand. Snape tried – and possibly failed – to keep the surprise from showing on his face, as Potter snorted and continued. "You didn't think I noticed, did you?" He shook his head, shrugging. "Well, now you know…I did a good bit of frothing at the ears myself." His tone and stance changed slightly, as he continued with the lesson. "_Legilimens!"_ Snape focused on the attack, trying to confuse Potter in the mists of his mind at first, then, switching abruptly to a different tack, brought up the memory of that awful Saturday morning, playing out the Headmaster's cheery words and stance.

The boy jerked away from him immediately, colouring angrily and grinding his teeth. Snape's eyes narrowed as he spoke, sneering.

"I see no reason why his words have such an – _ahem_ – interesting effect on you, Potter." He paused, raising an eyebrow at the shaking boy. "Care to share?" Potter did not seem to even _hear_ him, he was so angry.

"He _was_ smiling…" he seemed to mutter, over and over again, to himself. Snape tried to keep from chuckling nastily at his – dare he say it – _progeny's_ seeming madness. Potter glared up at him suddenly, his eyes glazed over with emotion. "This lesson is over – I'm going."

"The lesson is over _when I say it is_, Potter – "

"_Let – me - out!"_ came the surprising hiss. Potter turned on him, gripping his schoolbag convulsively by one handle, looking white with rage. He took a step toward Snape, one that was surprising in its menace. "If you don't want me to – _destroy_ this classroom, I – _suggest_ you let. Me. Out. _Now_." Snape smiled mockingly, raising the wards, inwardly shaken at the sheer rage that seemed to underline those words.

He watched the boy storm silently from the room, surrounded, it seemed, by a pulsing, throbbing halo of emotion, and wondered if he had not underestimated him.

Shaking his dark head in dismissal, Severus Snape returned his attention to his desk, where lay a pile of assignments he needed to correct. He hoped, for once, that _Potter_ would not be _utterly_ stupid in finding a way to relieve his – _ahem_ – strong emotions.

He snorted to himself, doubting even _that_.

_

* * *

_

"Come in," Severus Snape volunteered, his tone bored, at the knock at his office door. Who would be foolish enough to –

Potter.

The boy was angry again, that much was obvious, Snape thought darkly, to himself. _Why on _earth_ is he _here_, of all places? It was a Hogsmeade weekend, too – why isn't this shaking, pale boy off screaming and running round the town, buying useless snacks and meaningless joke tricks?_

"Potter – " he wearily began, only to be sharply cut off.

"Don't _call_ me that," Potter muttered darkly, sliding, still shaking, into the chair in front of his desk. Snape looked at him sharply, irritated and unsettled by this, and other appearances Potter had been making over the last week – popping into his office or classroom during lunch or after dinner diffidently, sometimes fidgeting and looking lost, or looking as if he'd like to strangle something or someone with his bare hands, asking meaningless, sometimes jerky, questions all the while.

Snape ignored him now, dipping into his nearly-empty bottle of red ink with his eagle feather quill, so as to put the finishing touches to a rather lengthy insult he was writing on a harebrained essay of that stupid Macmillan boy. He'd given up trying to make Potter _leave_, or better yet, stop coming, midweek, when he'd found that there was, it seemed, within the boy, a deep well of anger and an even deeper one of stubbornness that geared him to scream the insults right back at his professor. At his _father_, as he'd stubbornly insisted, once, eyes gleaming maliciously at Snape's blanched features.

Severus shook his head grimly. Potter, he'd decided, after seeing that fierce, almost maliciously pleasurable expression – to the boy himself, of course – was mad, or swiftly approaching it.

"What do you want _this_ time, Potter?" Snape sighed, finally. He always ended up asking this at _some_ point – it was best to get it over with –

"What happens if you miss a lesson – and – er – nothing's wrong, or anything?" Potter said, the angry look on his face becoming one of eagerness. It disturbed one, seeing that…rapid transformation. It certainly unnerved Severus and set him on his guard, though he did not show it immediately.

"If you _ever_ absent yourself from my lesson, Potter, I _will not hesitate_ to remove you from my attendance list – is that clear?" Potter shook his head, ignoring the threat.

"I wouldn't do it to _you_," he said, dismissing his Professor's dark look, "I was just – wondering, you know – what the official policy is. Sort of." He peered at Snape, who seized the opportunity to try to sift through his mind – whatever he was thinking or planning, it couldn't be good –

…_a flash of a syllabus: DADA, it said, written boldly across the front in swirling script – Harry copied it eagerly, easily affecting a satisfied tone – "Oh, I've found it, Professor, thank yo- "_

Snape was ejected abruptly from the mind of the boy before him, who now stood, eyes flashing angrily.

"_What the hell did you think you were doing _– "

"Finding out what you were _really_ up to, Potter," Snape said slowly, dangerously. "Sit _down_, immediately – "

"I _warned_ you to _stop that_ – " Potter began, starting to shake again, no sign of acquiescence in the defiant lines of his body. Snape cut him off, rising to his feet imperiously.

"And I informed you that I would – if and _only_ if you ceased to commit such folly, Potter!" Snape thundered. "What on earth are you thinking – planning to absent yourself from Defence lessons – "

"I know _half_ what's on that syllabus _already!"_ Potter shouted back, defiantly. "I can't _stand_ that man – never paying attention to anyone else while I'm in class – "

"I would've thought you of all people would welcome that, after that toad of a woman – "

"It makes me _sick_," Potter muttered furiously, dropping into his seat, clenching his hands spasmodically. "_Everyone_ hates it, in my class – don't know why I bother _going_ anymore, not when Hermione can't lecture me about skipping lessons – "

"What do you mean?" Snape demanded, slowly regaining his chair, looking sharply at his – no, it was _Potter_ – none of that _son_ nonsense –

_Potter_ shrugged, a little listlessly.

"I'm not friends with her anymore," he stated matter-of-factly. "She was always nagging at me to tell her what was going on – you know, with me…changing, and that – and I wasn't sleeping at one point, with all the research I was doing, because of the letter, and she noticed that – " The boy was beginning to babble, raking his hand compulsively through his hair.

"Stop that," Severus said, sharply, mind whirling. "Don't babble – why are you no longer friends with the Granger girl? What exactly happened?" Potter looked up, looking lost again.

"It was that Saturday, after the meeting with Dumbledore," he began, hollowly. "I told you – I was angry, and I…went somewhere to work it out," he said carefully, his eyes not meeting Snape's, "and after that I went somewhere else, to think for a bit. I got tired of being in – that place – and Ginny found me on the way to Gryffindor, where I was headed next." Potter seemed to stare at a spot above Snape's shoulder as he talked of these 'places' – disconcerting, of course, but also fairly obvious that he didn't want to talk of the exact locations of the 'places'. Snape sighed impatiently.

"I suppose you won't tell me where you went?" He asked, disgustedly. Potter started, training those green eyes on him. "Never mind – go on – "

"Well, I went with her, up to the common room," the boy continued, after a sharp intake of air. "And they were waiting for me; Hermione, Ron, Neville – even Luna – and Hermione started in on me. She called me my full name, eventually, and that just set me off." His face hardened. "I'm going to change that, sometime…anyway, I started shouting at her to leave me alone, and that my secret wasn't her business. She said it was, just as much as Ron's business was hers, and I went for that," he shot a look at Snape, "because they never saw fit to tell me they were going out, and it was so bloody _obvious_ – and now she's not talking to me. Ron and Neville still are – just barely, with Ron. And Ginny and Luna still talk to me, too. I just thought Hermione wouldn't care if I skipped Veron's lessons…or, at least, she wouldn't give me grief about it now…" He trailed off, staring at his hands again. "You're right – it _is_ stupid." He stood up suddenly, giving himself a little shake. "I'll just – "

"You will sit down," Snape began, annoyed, "and you will _inform_ the Headmaster of your concern, and continue attending the lessons of Professor Veron, or you will have me to deal with." The boy muttered something indistinct, but nodded jerkily, anyway. "Now – a question it irks me greatly to ask – why did you come to me with this? Why not the Headmaster, or, even better, someone else who would not easily see through your intentions, as I have done?" Potter started, and bit his lip thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure," he said lamely. Snape groaned in frustration.

"Why are you even _here_, Potter?"

"As I keep telling you, _don't call me that_." He stood up straight, the picture of diffident arrogance. "I am _not_ a Potter – "

"As you are certainly _not_ a Snape," his professor finished angrily for him. Potter shook his head, disdainfully.

"When will it enter your head that I've never said anything like that?" he said, almost to himself, tugging the corner of his robe from where it had wedged in a crevice of the chair he'd been seated in.

"You've _meant_ it," Snape supplied darkly. Potter rolled his eyes impatiently.

"And how would _you_ know? You don't _know_ me, whatever you think – you certainly don't know what _I_ think, anyway…" He made rapidly for the door, but paused in thought, just as he reached it. "And the reason I come? Because," he said, turning slightly to a taken aback Snape, "you tell the truth, as you see it, at the very least. And you're not afraid to tell it to me." Potter paused again, thoughtfully. "And, you're actually the one person I know that understands my anger at that – that letter – Dumbledore certainly doesn't." He paused yet again, giving Snape a slightly sardonic, mocking look. "Hope I was of – of _service_, Professor. Good afternoon." He was gone before Severus could voice any kind of retort.

Severus Snape stared hard at the door to his office. The boy was absolutely _infuriating_, sometimes – acting so mysteriously one moment, and laying his pathetic mind wide open the next.

_Got you interested, though, doesn't he? Got you thinking how he'd be if those worthless Muggles he stayed with hadn't gotten their inept hands on him –_

No! Professor Snape swirled an angry question mark atop the essay of – who was it – that dizzy Chang girl. He wouldn't let that little, smirking voice get the better of him now.

He wouldn't admit to himself that he wondered. Wondered what would have happened, what he would have done, if that arrogant_ prick_ hadn't waved his silly wand over his son, and –

_God_, Snape thought, full of horror. _I just called him my son_…

He buried his face in his ink-splattered hands.

It was positively shameful, the way he went on…

_

* * *

_

Severus Snape sighed again – the interruptions were driving him mad –

But not as mad as the presence of the person entering now, who slipped easily into his dungeon and walked confidently over to the complicated potion Severus was stirring frantically. It had been several days since that embarrassing visit during the Hogsmeade trip, and Severus had begun to think he'd been free of the boy's annoying presence.

Potter.

_Again_.

Severus gritted his teeth, wishing it could have been anyone else – even Draco, who had lately developed an unpleasant habit of dropping by occasionally to whine about his lost power in Slytherin, and how his illustrious father wasn't communicating with him at all, now that he had escaped Azkaban…

Severus sighed. His head hurt. His hands and shoulders ached from the stirring. And it was all made worse by the presence of this _boy_, who actually looked _happy_, for once.

It, Severus thought darkly, switching to the counter clockwise, square strokes the instructions called for, was not to be _borne_.

"Boy!" he demanded sharply, becoming even angrier when Potter merely looked at him. With – dear Merlin – _pity_.

"You've gotten to the fifty-eight counter-clockwise stirs, have you?" the boy murmured, dropping his bag carefully out of the way of the sweaty, nervous Potions Master. "Let me help – I can take over for the next set of clockwise ones, since the potion'll just need to simmer after those – "

"_Not_," Professor Snape sneered, "if you want the blasted thing to actually _work_, _Potter,"_ he said the name as if it were a swear word, purposely trying to infuriate the stupid boy.

It, for some ungodly reason, did not work.

"You know, you'd do well to remember I did get that Outstanding on my own merit," the boy merely said, giving him a cool look. "Besides, you're practically sweating _in_ the potion – I can stir just as well as you, too – "

"Just _go away_," Snape half-snarled, half-pleaded. The boy was not even looking at him – he was staring at the cauldron with narrowed eyes, watching the last three, squared strokes of Snape's long-handled stirrer. Suddenly, the boy stumbled close, almost tipping the small pot of crocodile scales into the potion. Severus reacted instantly, feeling a roar of impatience about to tear from his throat, diving to the side to catch the ingredient pot before it fell…

…only to have Potter, smirking triumphantly, wrest the stirring-spoon from him, and begin to stir in measured, clockwise strokes. Snape glared at him for moments, his anger and incredulity nearly suffocating him at once.

"You – you – insolent – foolish – "

" – brilliant, resourceful son of yours…?" Potter finished innocuously, an oddly hooded grin appearing on his face. Severus spluttered, his mouth failing to form words.

"Y – you're – n-no – "

"No son of mine…?" the insolent boy finished again, the grin slipping of his face, replaced by a smaller, equally hooded, smile. "Don't worry, Professor, you don't have to thank me – all you have to do is sit down. And glare at me, if you wish. That should be sufficient, yes…" Potter muttered the last sentence to himself, abruptly switching his stirring direction and deftly reaching for a pinch of powder from his left.

Snape, helpless with anger and muted relief, sat down nearby and followed his – the _boy's_ instructions to the letter, trying hard not to admire or praise his able, if slightly fumbling, work. Potter worked for a full hour on the potion, before turning the heat down and wiping his brow, leaving it to simmer for the second time, as the book had instructed. Snape eyed him as he spelled away the sweat on his hands and arms – it _was_ a rather vigorous potion to make, the Enchantment Strengthener –

"I suppose you're pleased with yourself, almost ruining five hours' work with your little stunt," Snape sneered. Potter shook his head, smiling faintly.

"Quite pleased, actually – you looked like you needed the rest." He sat down not far from Snape, running his hands through the still-sweaty hair that hung on his brow. "It's a complicated potion – took me _ages_ to find – "

"And of course you saw fit to ask the advice of no one in your fruitless little search – certainly not the _Potions Master_, who you thought to be your _father_…" Snape said, as nastily as he could He never could help himself around the boy – he was so dammed _foolish_ at times, overworking himself in the silliest ways possible –

"Considering how you reacted when I told you, it wasn't a bad idea, was it?" Potter pointed out, his tone getting a bit short. Snape just sneered at him again, ignoring his salient point, trying to get under his skin _somehow_ –

"Wonder what's got you so _perky_ today, _Potter_," he said snidely, watching how the boy flinched, imperceptibly, with great satisfaction. "Made up already with your dear little friends?"

"Not yet," Potter answered doggedly, some of the stupid smile finally leaving his face. "but I will – got a splendid little 'secret' to tell Hermione now, spent ages getting the story perfect – "

"You aren't going to tell her about your dear old father, Potter?" Snape continued, affecting a tone of mocking remorse. "How simply _shocking_ – "

"You never believe anything good of me, do you?" the boy shot back, his tone finally sharpening satisfactorily. "Of _course_ I won't tell her – not when you practically dragged me into your office and swore me to secrecy the other day when you panicked after overhearing me asking Ginny if I could talk to her in private – don't think I don't see what you're doing with this," he added, sharply. "You're just trying to make me angry, as usual – "

"And succeeding," Snape said triumphantly, leaning back in his chair. "_Fascinating_, isn't it? All I have to do is simply mention your precious little Gryffindor friends, and you redden like that foolish Weasley boy – you should see yourself now – " The boy ground his teeth, his face starting to turn the peculiar red-and-white Snape had gotten used to. "There we are – I do wonder what would happen if I was to mention the Weasley girl – sickeningly besotted with her, aren't you – _pathetic_ – "

"Leave her out of this," Potter said, gulping hard, suddenly, violently getting to his feet.

"Pray tell me why, _Potter_," came the nasty reply. This was going so excellently –

"_Stop – calling – me – "_

"Temper, Potter – " The boy, instead of going into one of his now trademark rages, merely threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of utter frustration.

"You're _impossible_, sometimes – " He lunged for his bag, shaking sweaty hair out of his face, checking the time on the broken, yet functioning face of the wristwatch on his left hand. "I've got to go, thank Merlin," he paused in the doorway, which he'd gotten to ridiculously rapidly, "for _you_, anyway. I'd eventually have to turn the tables, you know – start calling you _father_ – "

The shot told, and Snape sat back in his chair, red in the face, as a now-smirking Potter left the room.

_The boy_, he told himself some time afterwards, still watching the simmering potion, _is a menace_.

A _smart_ menace, he grudgingly admitted, glancing at the door through which Potter had left earlier, _but a menace, just the same._

* * *

Just over one week later, Severus Snape watched, covertly, the slightly stooped figure that trooped past his concealed spot in the library, unconscious of the sharp black eyes that watched him. It was Potter – no – well, not exactly, at least. 

Snape turned the page in his _Annual Potions Compendyum: 1919_. He didn't know what exactly to call Po – the boy now.

_I'm certainly not going to call the brat my son_¸ Snape thought firmly, keeping his eye on the dark-haired, slightly less thin figure, which sat two or three tables away, bent over a huge book – _some rubbish on Defence, no doubt_, Snape sneered to himself – occasionally turning pages and scribbling something in that leather-bound book he'd seen with Po – the boy many times. He amused himself with thoughts on what the little brat could be writing in the book – _50 Points on How to be an Annoying Little Gryffindor Sod_, Severus chuckled nastily to himself – before turning his attention back to his own, handsome grimoire – _several times more respectable than that shabby little book of Po – that _boy's.

Ten minutes later, Severus found himself staring absently at Po – the boy, _again_. Giving himself a slightly helpless little shake, he forced his traitorous attention back to the pages of his grimoire. His habit of staring at the boy had become even more pronounced after he'd finally dosed him with the Enchantment Strengthener five days ago. He'd been shocked at how much the boy had shrunk, after that, and how much stockier he'd gotten, as well. Even his face had changed slightly, the features losing their sharpness, regaining that delicate arrogance that characterised his arrogant, false father. Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, berating himself for the hundredth time for not taking some kind of picture, or something he could study before the glamour and the potion had been repaired and restored.

He turned his page again, rather violently. It wasn't anything _personal_, really – he'd just have wanted to – to really _see_ his – God, he wasn't going to say it.

_I'm going mad_¸ Severus thought, a little desperately. _Wanting a _photograph_ of that – _brat_…_

Suddenly, the boy looked up, seemingly suspicious of being watched, and caught sight of him. Snape bristled, sighing inwardly, shutting his book with a loud _thump_. There was nothing for it – he'd been meaning to ask the _boy_ something, anyway –

"Boy," he snarled, pausing the brat in the action of hastily gathering his possessions – to run off elsewhere, no doubt – "Sit. Down." His son – may as well call him that, there was no way he was calling him _Harry_ – sat down, the muscles in his hands clenching with frustration as he _thumped_ his books back down on the desk. Snape ignored the wild look in the boy's eyes, ploughing determinedly on. "Have you come to your senses about attending the class we spoke of?"

"You know full well that I've been going, _Professor,"_ the boy spat out, curling his hands into fists on top of the table. "I _saw_ you – you asked Professor Veron if I was attending at dinner on Wednesday, didn't you?" He turned accusing green eyes on a now slightly uncomfortable Severus. "What do you really want to know?"

"Whether you acted on my advice, Po – _boy_ – and told the Headmaster, like I asked…" Snape trailed off at the rebellious look on – dare he say it again – his _son_'s face. "You didn't, did you? Fool of a boy – "

"Oh, _leave it,"_ the boy snarled back, rising abruptly from his seat. "I'll tell my problems to _whoever I like_ – don't you dare tell Dumbledore, it's not his fucking problem – "

"_Language_, boy!"

His son began to laugh hoarsely, stuffing his books into his worn schoolbag.

"You say that _every time_…bloody predictable, you are," He stood up, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. "It's not your problem either, is it?" Snape glared at him, momentarily robbed of all speech. "That's what I thought – you'll understand I'll be bloody glad, leaving this place for Christmas, even if I'm barely talking to my so-called friends," he said the word bitterly, "so – goodbye. Have a nice holiday, I should say – as if you'll even _try_…"

With that said, he shoved violently past Snape, leaving his father standing, utterly bewildered, by the now-empty table. What had happened to the so-called reconciliation the boy had been almost – well – _giddy_ with, that day he'd tricked Severus into letting him help with the potion?

Severus Snape shook his head, muttering resentfully to himself. You could _try_ to help such an ungrateful brat, of course – but where it would get you was another matter.

Where it had gotten him filled his thoughts for the next few hours, but was eventually dismissed. After all, he had important things to do and think about – the Headmaster had given him the task of helping one of the older Weasley brood bring the new spate of Order recruits from Romania in time for the initiation, and he'd managed to convince Voldemort it was really a desperately important visit to his poor, yet noble relatives in the same country. Snape surveyed his dungeons carefully, making sure everything was in good order.

Yes, he had infinitely more important things to do – more important than thinking about the sullen brat who was undoubtedly now on the Hogwarts Express heading hundreds of miles away, to his dead fool of a godfather's dank house.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Hi guys! This chapter is also a wee bit abrupt, but I like it this way. I was going to write the next chapter from Harry's point of view, as he reaches Grimmauld Place and all that, but I'm thinking about doing the chapter, or some bits of it, from someone else's point of view – I was thinking Remus, or even, partly, Ginny, or even splitting it in three ways. I'll see, though. The next chapter should be along in at least two or three days, as I'm going to be rather busy the first few days of the week, but anyway. _

_Thanks to all who reviewed! __The next chapter, just to give you a hint, will be called something like this: _Chapter 8: The Hippogriffs Are Not Merry.

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	8. Chapter 8: The Hippogriffs Are Not Merry

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Hey people!_

_Right, here we go – the first Christmas chapter. From different points of view, which I'll leave you to (easily) guess, we see Harry's growing frustration and weariness with his situation, and who he finally breaks down and confesses the whole awkward situation to…Enjoy…_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 8: The Hippogriffs Are Not Merry**

_The Hippogriffs_, Harry thought to himself, _are _not_ merry_.

He frowned, stretching out slightly in order to reach the top of the leafy Christmas tree he was trying to decorate, remembering Sirius' merry, silly song the last Christmas he'd spent here. Harry sighed, awkwardly hanging the ornate angel near the top. _It'll have to do_.

The grief, which had seemed so far away at Hogwarts, miserable as he'd been with the awful situation with his friends, as well as the infuriating way Professor Snape had kept rejecting his – at least, he'd _thought_ they were – simple, uncomplicated offers to talk to the only person who partially understood his new problems, had come rushing back as soon as he'd set foot in the measurably brighter, cheerier entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. He'd somehow survived the painfully happy welcome from a blushing Lupin and a knowing Tonks, and fled to his room for the next ten hours, ignoring the calls to come to dinner.

It had eventually taken the appearance of an irate Ginny, shouting at him for being, among other things, a 'bleeding tosser'. His heart had risen and plummeted at an equal rate, on seeing her in his room, then remembering the fact that had nearly driven him to distraction earlier in the day. Ginny, after a spectacular break-up with Dean – which he'd barely given thought to, as unsettled as he'd been that week, it being the week of the Enchantment Strengthener potion, which had been _very_ painful to live with, after the initial dose – had been free for a week or so, but by the time Harry had noticed, _and_ gotten up the courage to talk to her, a mistily apologetic Luna had told him she was going out with Horace Bletchley – some boy in her year. Harry, walking critically around the slightly lopsided tree, sighed to himself.

_I was such a –_

"Harry," came Ron's sullen, slightly cold tone from outside the spacious front parlour Lupin had finished rescuing. "Can we talk, for a minute?"

That was another thing that had gone wrong, somehow, Harry thought to himself, magicking the shiny ornament box shut. He'd made up a brilliant story to tell Hermione, in place of the truth – about foolish, grief-driven research into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. He'd even _done_ a bit of research, too – conjured up a few messy notes, just in case – and told the story as contritely as he could, hoping hard to repair the rift that had sprung between them. Instead of sighing and telling him that he was so silly, and that nothing would bring Sirius back, and scolding him (kindly) for wasting his time, she'd blown up further at him, shouting that he was absolutely irresponsible if it was true, and that she couldn't believe he would scream at her in front of the whole common room for such a relatively unimportant thing –

Whereupon Harry, a little sore from the countless insults he'd weathered from Snape earlier on, had pointed out sharply, if a bit unwisely, that she had yelled at him too before the selfsame room, as well as the fact that Sirius' death was in no way unimportant to him, and the reconciliation Harry had planned had rapidly gone downhill from there on. He'd been shouting himself hoarse about it being his business again, to a teary, equally shouting Hermione, when Ron had found them in the empty classroom, and torn into him for shouting at her _again_. Harry's shoulders sagged. It was just ridiculous, how such a small lie – well, a rather big lie – had caused even more trouble between him and his friends.

Harry folded his arms, now sitting across the kitchen table from Ron. He'd given up, after that, burying himself in every Defence book he could lay his hands on, as well as studying obsessively for the rest of his classes. He'd not thought himself able to study more, at a point – but that had been before he found out about Ginny and that Bletchley character. Harry grimaced jerkily – he still wasn't entirely used to being careless with his expressions – feeling hard done by. _Everything happens to_ –

"So, Harry," Ron said, sounding a bit impatient. "When are you going to apologise?"

"To Hermione, you mean?" Harry said, a little sharply. She_ started the shouting first, each time_ –

"Yes, Harry – to Hermione," Ron spat out, suddenly so vehement that Harry was taken aback. "Who else, Harry? Oh, no, wait – there _is_ the little matter of apologising to me as well, and to Neville, _and_ Ginny, _and_ Luna, but we both know you've hurt Hermione the most – "

"I tried to apologise to her last week, Ron – you can't say I didn't – "

"Oh yes I can – looked more like _yelling_ you were doing at her, in that classroom – "

"It started out as an apology," Harry pointed out shortly, "it only got to _yelling_ when _she_ started having a go at _me_ – "

" – as she should've!" Ron shot back, his face starting to turn red. "As all of us should, come to think of it, Harry – "

"So you're telling me – "

" – after you wouldn't give us the _time of day_ – "

" – making an _apology_ means the person should _shout_ at you – "

" – or tell us what the _hell_ was going on IN YOUR LIFE!" Ron was on his feet now, shouting fit to kill himself. "You never tell us ANYTHING – "

" – for doing the SAME EXACT THING THEY DID TO YOU!" Harry shouted back. "If you'd only _listen_ to me, you'd _know_ I had GOOD REASONS – "

" – except when we _corner_ you and drag it the BLOODY HELL OUT – "

" – for _everything_ I didn't SAY – "

" – and I'm SICK OF IT!" Ron exploded, wildly waving his long arms about, temporarily cutting Harry off. "I'm bloody _sick of it!_ If you want to keep your bloody secrets, then _fine!_ KEEP THEM! SEE IF I CARE – "

"You just don't bloody_ get it_ – "

"And who _does_, Harry? _Who gets it?_ _SNAPE?"_ Harry stopped short, stunned. "Oh – you think we _didn't bloody notice?_ Didn't see you _slinking off_ to that _git's_ office _all the bloody _TIME?" Harry jolted back into action. "Maybe _that's_ your stupid bloody _secret_ – "

"You don't _understand_ – " he began, bitterly, but Ron headed him off, shoving the kitchen chair roughly against the table, stepping away.

"_I don't understand?_ There's a _bloody_ REASON _I don't bloody understand, Harry_ – " he paused, right in front of Harry's red face, " – and it's because _you don't tell me a bloody_ THING!" He stalked towards the door, angrily shoving past the shocked group of people that stood there, staring in consternation at Harry, whose abnormally tight grip on the chair in front of him was beginning to smoke. Wrenching his hands from the chair as if _it_ was burning _him_, Harry strode past them too, not letting him see the saddened, puzzled faces of Tonks, Lupin – and Ginny.

The last name seemed to set fire to the glowing embers of Harry's anger, and he slammed the doors all the way to his room with a kind of eager passion, one thought seeming to stand out like a brand on his memory.

_It's all going to hell_. _And everything – everything is my fault_.

Warding his room with everything he could remember, he broke down into his pillow, sobbing with anger and frustration.

_…all going to hell…_

Jumping up, he slammed his fist into the wall nearest to him, not caring how it hurt. He could do this, at least – he could always heal himself – repair the wall –

* * *

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

My heart begins to beat in time with those odd thumps coming – I sigh unhappily – from Harry's room. _Merlin_ _knows what on earth he's doing in there_ – I head for his room slowly. _It's usually me, now, fixing his silly moods_ –

_Ow!_ I step back from the door – what on earth – _the door handle – just _burnt_ me_ –

"Let me in _this minute_, Harry James Potter!" I shout, hammering my unhurt hand on the door in front of me, not really expecting the door to swing open, to reveal his wild, pinched features.

"_What_ did you just call me?" he demands lowly, green eyes narrowed in fury. I blink inwardly – _never seen him_ _this angry_ – but answer as coldly as I can.

"Your _name_, Harry." I raise my chin defiantly. He glares at me for a moment, then suddenly latches onto my shoulder with an oddly wet hand, dragging me roughly into the room by the fisted shoulder of my slightly loose top. I feel a wash of strong magic grasp at me searchingly for a minute, then abruptly fall away as he leaves hold of me, slamming the door. He doesn't face me for a minute, one hand still on the door – _it stung me_, I still think, incredulously.

"Don't," he rasped finally, swiping at his sweaty forehead with the back of one wet – _wait – is that_ – hand, turning to me, "call me that. Again. _Ever_." His green eyes pierce mine, even as I realise that the wetness on his hand – _and on my shirt_, I think, my hand twitching to my slightly damp shoulder – is _blood_. I swallow the hundreds of questions that threaten to overwhelm me for a minute, my eyes searching the room for – _there it is_ – blood. I look away from that ominous spot beside his bed, where he evidently pummelled the wall in his anger, feeling his eyes on me. I ask the safest question I can think of, to dispel the rising tension in the air.

"Why did the door sting me?" Comes out more as a demand than a question, but it'll have to do. Harry frowns at me for a moment, thoughts clearly racing behind all the anger, then sighs, shoulders sagging, looking almost defeated. The answer comes almost too quietly for me to hear –

"Wards," is the faint word he says, his lips curling slightly into a sad sort of half-smile. He looks down at his hands, and I cannot help it – my gaze is drawn there too, to the broken, ugly skin. I find myself feeling helpless against that kind of anger, feeling that I have to _say_ something, _anything_…

"I can help with that," I blurt out, still staring at his bloody, curling hands, "we always have tons of bruises at the Burrow…" I trail off as Harry looks up at me, his face sad.

"I can do that myself," he replies, almost defensively, bowing his head to look at them again. "I know a few healing spells now – not tried most of them yet, but…" he trails off, sounding oddly nervous. I can't think why – can't get my mind round these rapid mood swings of his right now, but it can't be helped. I take over briskly, pulling out some tissue from my pocket.

"Then you shouldn't do them – may not work too well, doing those spells the first time," I pause, feeling shy, but plough on, asking my question in spurts. "You wouldn't – would you just – er – since I can't technically – er – do magic – you wouldn't mind if I used your wand, would you?" A small shake of the dark head sends me searching for it.

Silence reigns, and I can feel his eyes on me acutely, watching me as I fumble after his wand, which is tossed carelessly down on the floor, on the other side of the bed from the lowly placed dark, smudged handprints – _must've – er – sunk – to his feet, at that point_, I tell myself, my face flushing so hard it hurts, at the thought of a weeping, despondent Harry – and slight, even bloodier depressions, much higher up, in the wall. I curse my face, and say the next few words almost fiercely, not looking directly at him.

"If you'll just sit down – over here – "

Harry complies easily, moving with the odd, slightly graceful way he's had for a while now, and my blush recedes slightly, my body moving mechanically to sit by him, hair falling haphazardly in my face as I turn toward him, trying not to notice how his does the same, as he turns towards me. He doesn't speak as I say the simple spells, but I can feel his burning gaze firmly rooted on me all the same. It's _maddening_, this – this awful feeling that justwon't_ go away_.

"Other hand now, Harry," I murmur, disregarding the fact that I don't really need to touch him to work the spell properly, just concentrating on the almost eager way he puts his bloodied fist into my own hand, and leans in just a bit, making my toes curl and my neck flush, _again_.

_I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, _I chant to myself, fighting the feeling that seems to worm its way even deeper into my foolish heart.

"Thanks," Harry mutters hoarsely, leaving his hand in mine. My heart threatens to split open from the shame and pity and want that I feel, feeling the warm weight of that, now whole, slightly sticky hand resolutely hanging onto mine, my brain flooding with how unhappy he's been this term, and how bloody silly I am, being so angry at him for no real –

"It's okay," I say shortly, reluctantly leaving hold of his hand. "Here – " I don't dare look into his eyes as I hand him back his wand. "Thanks for letting me…er…"

"No problem, Ginny," he answers softly, head down as he carefully spells the blood off his hands, and – sending a jolt through me – spelling the blood off mine. I gulp, thinking maniacally of those three words. And the way he said them…

No problem, he said. As if – as if he'd give me – give me _anything_ –

I gulp hard, again, as he turns pulls me closer towards him, muttering spells at my shoulder until he gets them right, and the damp, sticky feeling is gone. I take a few deep breaths as I rise from the bed, slightly unwilling to abandon the feeling of such comfortable proximity to _him_.

_You've got a _boyfriend_, Ginevra Weasley_, I tell myself sternly, between breaths. _You. Are. Over. This. Boy._

I _have_ to be, damnit.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask slowly, gently, staring down at the top of his messy head, which remains still, unmoving, as he gives his answer. I hope, for a moment, that he'll say _something_ about this awful anger – he told me small things, this summer, enough to make him trust me with something this big –

"Don't think I can," he mutters, clenching his fists again. He seems to eye the wall – _Merlin, don't let him start punching__ it again_ – and rises, as if filled with new determination. As he _Scourgifies_ the bloodstains, I feel ashamed, underestimating him like that. His shoulders droop, and he sort of half-leans, half-collapses against the wall. "I'm – I'm sorry. I just can't." His voice wavers horribly, striking a wild mix of fear and pity in me. _So help me, I won't be held responsible for my actions – if he – if he starts – starts crying_ –

"It's all right," I say, strongly, trying not to let my own voice waver. Somehow, I find the courage to walk over and give him a small hug, from behind, making it slightly loose, ignoring the interesting way he smells, and –

"Thanks, Ginny." His hand touches my arm slightly, as he sort of _leans_ back into me, tense, roiling energy still rolling off him in waves. I step back – _not _too_ hastily there, Ginny_ – and start to make for the door. "Wait – " he commands me, turning round, flicking his wand and saying something in rapid Latin. "There – the door handle won't sting you, now." I can feel the tension still emanating from him as I toss a smile over my shoulder and leave the room, but I can't deny it –

Something changed, there. That last sentence was calmer, somehow. _And_, I tell myself, running noisily down the stairs, heading for the kitchen, _I didn't see it – but I think he almost – _smiled_, there._

I shake my red hair restlessly, berating my imagination.

Angry Harry Potters, I remind myself, finally at the slightly ajar door of the kitchen, do not smile.

* * *

Bloody hell. 

Those were the only two words that seemed to stay with me, for a while, this morning.

_Tonks just – just kissed me. _Me._ Bloody hell…_

_Tonks just _propositioned_ me. Bloody. Hell. ME!_

_Harry's here – finally – but, bloody hell, does he look _awful_…_

_Voices in the – Merlin – that's _Ron_. And _Harry_. Screaming at each other. So – bloody hell – he just singed that chair…_

They seem to be my words of choice today, really. Sirius would've laughed at that, I remember, my face falling slightly, prompting Tonks to give me a sharp glance and a gentle squeeze of my arm. Laughed that barking laugh of his – told me, I wager, that I have an unadulterated right, as a Marauder, to swear – at all times.

_Sirius gone_, I swallow, pain lancing dully through me, still, _bloody hell._ Tonks shifts her shoulder against mine, impatiently. Sometimes, I really wonder how she stands me and my everlasting grief –

"Stop that," she admonishes suddenly, giving me a small, fierce kiss.

"What?"

"Right then," she answers, annoyed, "you looked _exactly_ like you did, at me, when I first asked you to have dinner with me. I won't have it – understand?" She glares at me until I nod, smiling now, and returns to her crusty teacup. I've no idea why she does that, but when she sips, and licks at it like that –

_Bloody hell_.

So, when a dishevelled Ginny comes bursting in, tiny drops of red on her slightly shabby white top, babbling about _Harry_ and _thumping_ and _blood on the walls_, they are unfortunately the first words that spring to my lips.

"_Bloody hell_…" Tonks and Ginny stare at me, making me feel defensive. I try to call the attention away from the unusual words flowing easily from my mouth by asking a question. "Could you repeat that again, Ginny? Slower, please – "

"Like I said," she continues, giving her red head a tiny shake of bewilderment, "he actually had _wards_ on his door – it stung me when I tried to get in – "

"He _knows_ that one?" Tonks interjected sharply. "They don't teach that at Hogwarts, do they, Remus – not while _I_ was there, at least – and that lump of a Romulus Veron doesn't look much like a rebellious sort, if you know what I mean – "

"Wait, Ginny," I said, not wanting to openly agree with Tonks – it _is_ a teacher of Ginny's, after all, "You said something about 'thumps' – what were they?" Her face darkens, looking, oddly, more frightened than angry. The way _I_ heard it, it sounded like Harry was thumping the wall – I can't really believe that, though –

"Harry," she said shortly, sharply, glaring slightly at me, as if she can sense my disbelief. "It _was_ him, Profe- er – Remus, I'm really serious – he bloodied his knuckles and everything, they were torn and that – "

"What?" I say, rising from my seat, fear starting to make its way into my heart. "Why – what on earth could – oh, Merlin, it was that row he just had, wasn't it? With Ron?" I'm already starting for the kitchen door. I remember that little display he had with Kreacher – with _me_, in fact, standing over me, eyes cold with determination, that very first day –

"Remus, don't just go charging off – " Tonks says hastily, clumsily setting down her cup of tea.

"Wait, please – " Ginny seizes my arm as I go past, her grip surprisingly strong for her size. "You didn't see him, Remus – he was almost ready to hex me for calling him his full _name_, for crying out loud – "

"Are you _serious_, Ginny?" Confusion swirls in, stalling me. That is so –

"_Yes_," she replies, leaving go of my arm, "just 'Harry James Potter', _honestly_, and he was ready to go off – don't think he would've even been angry enough to open the door if I hadn't said that – " She shudders, worry colouring her expression. "He's done that once or twice, come to think of it – it was with Hermione, I think – he tried to make up with her, and they ended up screaming at each other, and she came back babbling about something he really got angry about that she couldn't understand, and – "

"Hold," I say, setting a hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the table. "He got angry because you lot called him his full name? Why would he – "

"I _know!"_ Ginny replied, miserably. "It's gotten really bad between him and Hermione – been horrid, really," she sniffed a bit, dragging fingers irritably through her hair. "What you saw just now, with Ron – doesn't really compare…" My eyes widen in shock and bewilderment.

"Sit down, Ginny – calm down, I can talk to him, you know, but I can't do that if I don't know exactly what's been going on," I pull out a chair at the table, which the shaken girl slides into easily. "He never sent me more than a couple of letters, really, with next to nothing in them, but I thought he was busy, or something – "

"Oh, he's been busy," Ginny cut in, almost bitterly, sniffing hard. "Busy running around, practically _living_ in the library, and in the Room of Requirement – you know, where we did the D.A. – and he never told us why…Hermione told me," she lowered her voice, leaning in the direction of the two rapt adults, "he said he was researching the Veil – for _Sirius_…" My heart gives a hard thump – sinking down into my stomach heavily. I hang my head slightly, feeling utterly foolish for not having _seen_ –

"He was?" I clear my throat shakily. "Merlin – I saw him – he was torturing Kreacher when I Floo'ed in after the attack on Privet Drive…saying Sirius would've wanted it…I should've _known_ – "

"Don't, Remus," comes Tonks' sharp voice, penetrating through the shield my hands have erected round my face. "Harry does what he wants – he's responsible for his own actions, you know, he's not a kid anymore, not after all he's seen – "

"I'm not even entirely sure, about – him being – responsible – for his actions, lately," Ginny says, eyes on the table, speaking carefully, embarrassedly.

"What do you mean?" I am genuinely perplexed – Harry's been doing well in his Occlumency lessons, I know _that_, at least, if not from Harry himself – My train of thought severs at the odd look on Ginny's face, as she sucks in a sharp breath of air, nervously pursing her lips.

"We cornered him, once," she said, softly, blushing, "oh – Merlin – we _asked_ him – he said no, but – I've seen him myself, heading for the dungeons, coming up from there – we _know_ he's meeting someone, now – Ron thinks it's Snape, but I don't – "

"_Snape?"_ I feel the familiar warmth of wolfish anger flicker at the back of my consciousness, the need to know filling me like a too-tight balloon. But Ginny is already shaking her head, red flying from side to side.

"I don't think I should tell you," she mutters lowly, looking at the table. A terrible idea is lancing sharply into me – _stinging_ me into jerking out –

"He's meeting Snape – he's not _seeing_ him, Ginny?" I am halfway out of my chair before she can answer anything, and heading determinedly for the door by the time Ginny's anguished tone reaches me.

"It's not like that, Remus – we – we don't _know_ – he told us he wasn't gay – "

"And how did you know he was telling the truth?" I toss fiercely over my shoulder, anger piping through my veins. _If that BASTARD is using Harry_ –

"That's for him to tell you," Ginny shot back, scraping out of her chair, doggedly trailing me out of the kitchen. "He wasn't lying then, I'm sure of it – "

"Remus, calm down," Tonks touches me softly, somehow appearing by my side. "It won't go well if you're too angry to think – you know Harry, he'll likely just shout right back, and where will you be then?"

"I'm fine," I say, shortly, easing my arm from her soft, insistent grip. "Honestly, Nym – Tonks, I'll be fine…" It comes out a bit harsher than I intended, because of the stupid slip. I can feel myself heating up, but ignore it all the same, turning to Ginny, who now has a rather calculating look in her eyes. "I'll be careful with him, Ginny – as careful as I can, at any rate," I give her a strained smile, "I definitely won't be calling him by his full name, of course…" She smiled back, too, but it was a small, mostly miserable smile.

"Yeah," she muttered, eyes dropping to the ground. "I just – I just wish…he just seems to have all these strange problems and everything – it's just unfair, for him…" she trailed off again, eyes softening as she looks at the revarnished steps, leading up to most of the bedrooms, and, by default, Harry. I put a calming, reassuring hand on her shoulder for a minute, then turn and face the stairs.

Even if I didn't want to do this – which I do, though it most likely won't be pleasant – I know I must – for Sirius.

Harry's not the only one that remembers Sirius. And I need to make him remember that, now.

Sighing, I move to open the door, having checked the wards on it. The stinging ward is gone now – traces of it linger on the door, along with a slightly more malevolent Impediment Ward. The rest of them are merely a system of trigger wards – nothing that should stop me from entering the room.

Right.

Bloody hell.

* * *

Remus has been in Harry's room for something over an hour now – far too long, in my opinion. I sneak a look at Ginny – she's almost _writhing_ in impatience – _that's still going strong, I suppose_, I think wryly to myself, getting up. She needs a distraction, poor thing – same thing I'd need, in the same situation. I edge carefully round the chairs, levitating my old cup of tea carefully into the sink. 

"Want some tea, Ginny?" She starts slightly, staring at me as if she'd sort of forgotten I was actually in here, sitting at the kitchen table with her, waiting for –

"Yeah," she mutters, combing out her ponytail with quick, jerky movements. I watch her for a moment, then set to making the tea. Her hair's so damn straight – I can never quite get the odd, thick texture right. I try now, forgetting the slightly squeaky teapot before me, lengthening the bubble pink strands first – that's always easier – then turning it to that lustrous red. I jerkily set down the two cups of tea – _whoops, spilled a little_ – and levitate the small pots of sugar and milk over. Ginny spots my hair, and a small, sad smile appears on her face. I beam back as best as I can, adding sugar and milk a little haphazardly to my tea – I like having little crusty bits of sugar and milk round the edge, Remus always stares when I lick them off, see –

"Thanks, Tonks," comes the soft voice of Ginny, who is still staring at her tea, swirling in far too much milk. I toss my red hair as imperiously as possible, changing my features to the more haughty lines of some Lady I saw once, on the television my dad insisted on showing my mother once or twice, and peer down my nose at her.

"It is nothing, child," I say, drawling my words in a passable imitation of Narcissa Malfoy – as useless as she is, she _does_ have rather a striking way of speaking. Ginny's smile deepens into a small grin for a minute, then fades as I turn my attention to my crusty teacup.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, sounding miserable, "I'm just – not – _urgh_ – " she splutters on her milky tea, making a grotesque face that I admire carefully – interesting effect, that had – "Merlin," Ginny continues making slightly less grotesque faces, "I – goodness – can't have been paying much attention to that, can I…"

"It's all right," I offer, letting my face shift to my favourite set of features. "I understand." She gives me a look, brown eyes full of turmoil, then looks away.

And indeed, I do…I watch her absently add sugar to her unsatisfactory tea, and sip at it slowly, lost, again, in thought. If it had been me, and it had been Remus up there, bloodying his skin against the walls and refusing to talk about what was so obviously driving him round the bend, I would've been doing pretty much the same thing Ginny is doing now.

Brooding.

Perhaps trying to beat some sense into his head, as well, but that's slightly out of the question in Ginny's case – Harry can likely snap her like a twig, if he's angry enough, and not probably just with magic, either. And he was – angry enough to set Stinging Wards on his bloody _door_ (still don't know where he found those), if you're Harry, means absofuckinglutely-frothing-at-the-brain.

I sigh, seeing the signs in her nervous, hunched posture clearly. I overheard Hermione talking to her once, something about her being over Harry. I'd snorted to myself then – even as I snort now. _Over him_, I want to tell that bossy, brainy, well-meaning girl, _Pah._

_Just that – pah._ I sip some of my tea, savouring the crusty edge of my cup. The signs are all there, if you look – the way Ginny always knows where that dratted boy is, the way she listens to him, the way she looks at him – sort of wistfully – I can go on.

I know those signs – I've lived with them, myself. Ginny starts a banal little conversation about how nice the kitchen keeps getting, and I humour her, feeling pity sting me as I watch her slightly hollow gestures, the way she occasionally checks the door, tension in the lines of her small frame.

_Poor thing, indeed – that boy__ is as thick as two short planks, when it comes to things like these,_ I think into my cup. Ginny twists her fingers in her hair as she drains the cup, in an odd ritual of sorts. _Although_, I continue thoughtfully, my nose lengthening unconsciously, _he _did_ see how much I chased that – werewolf of a man – this summer_. I drain my cup as well. _There's potential, really_ –

I blush hard, suddenly reminded of just how blatantly I went about that little task. Of course, Remus, poor grieving sod, had been having none of my little hints and gestures, and the way I'd try to be on the same missions as him, and everything. I snort into my empty cup, then set it down a little hard. _I had to take _some_ kind of action, honestly – he kept dropping foolishly heavy hints about how old__ he was, and all_…I smile a little to myself. _Wasn't so old__ this morning, was he…_

_But_, I tell myself, hastily moving away from those interesting memories, _it _was_ rather blatant, my – er – pursuit of Remus, this summer._ I frown a little, looking at Ginny, who is now staring at her hands, conversation momentarily forgotten. _He probably needs a few _heavy_ hints – I'll just tell her, shall I – poor sod probably thinks she _is_ over him, Hermione will have told him at some point_…

Because, I do see more than Ginny thinks, namely that Harry looks at her more than is healthy – in my opinion.

Ignoring the fact that such knowledge _did_ come from eyeing Remus and watching him sharply to see if he was eyeing _me_, I levitate the cups and dishes into the sink.

"There," I say triumphantly, carefully intoning the Rinsing Charm over them – it's not every day I can do all that properly, really – "Now, Ginny – "

A small crash, just outside the kitchen, cuts me off. We both rise quickly, wands out by the time we reach the door, hearts beating, wondering –

"Tonks? Ginny?" It's Remus – Merlin, he sounds so – "It's me – just – let me in, all right?" We do so – wands still up, just in case – and we see it is truly him. We force him to sit down, not bothering with any hidden signal between ourselves – he looks so shaken it's disturbing.

"Are you all right, Remus?" I ask sharply, noting the nervous blinking and twitching of his facial features, the bewildered air in his eyes, as if he'd just found out something ridiculously awful. I bristle slightly. "Did he – "

"No," he cuts me off, just as sharply, some measure of clarity returning to his face. "We talked – for a while – how long has it…?"

"Just over an hour and a half, Remus," Ginny supplies, eagerly sitting opposite him. I take the seat beside him, covertly touching his arm – _no, you fool – you're not supposed to look__ at me, it's not covert anymore_…

"What?" I ask softly – he's just staring at me, as if I'm some sort of precious thing…It shouldn't fidget me, but it does –

_Are those _tears_ – ?_

"Good," he says blankly, turning from me. My mouth settles into a slightly grim line – we're definitely going to discuss that look – he was scared, I'm sure of it –

"We talked," he repeats, almost to himself. Ginny and I exchange looks of bewilderment at his silence, and it is she who snaps it first.

"About what?" she demands, almost impatiently. Remus seems to jerk into action, giving himself a little shake.

"I can't – "

"Don't give me _that_," Ginny cries, almost miserable, "that's the same thing he said – "

" – with _good reason_, Ginny," Remus interrupts, his expression hardening, becoming almost steely. "It's not just about him – not entirely his own secret – "

"He _is_ gay," Ginny gasps, jumping to her feet, looking wild. "The – the _prat_ – "

"Sit _down_, Ginny, don't be stupid," I snap at her, immediately, knowing that desperate look on her face bodes Harry no good. "Harry, _gay_, honestly…" I shake my head at an astonished, desperate Ginny. "He's no more gay than Remus here," I say, jerking at his arm – he blushes at _everything_, for Merlin's sake – "Honestly, Ginny – you really don't see him watching you, do you?"

"Watching me?" Ginny repeats my words stupidly. I nearly smile, savouring the almost greedy delight in her expression, which she struggles to hide, trying hard to appear calm. "You can't be seri – "

"Oh, yes I can," I cut her off. "I know these things – I've seen him watching you a lot, over these last few days. Not absently, either," I nudge Remus, who smiles, just a bit, at the thought. "The secret's got nothing to do with that – it'll be something far more serious, if he's not telling you lot…right, Remus?" He nods, shoulders sagging.

"He'll be all right, really – but I don't know if he'll be able to tell any of you for a long time," he offered, looking intently at Ginny, who has begun to slip back into her chair. "Give him time, Ginny – and tell Ron it's _definitely_ not what he thinks," He really smiles now, as he continues, "really – when I asked him about that, he was nearly hysterical – with laughter, too. Don't worry about him, Ginny – he'll come around. Eventually." His kind eyes hold Ginny's, and she nods slowly at him.

"Thanks, Remus," she says, smiling a bit more vibrantly.

I sit back in my chair, watching her step out of the kitchen. It has a hint of a spring to it, and I'm glad. _I did that_.

"Nymph?" Remus' voice is distractingly close to my ear. "You didn't need to do that, with Ginny – "

"Of course I did," I retort, getting huffily to my feet. I give him a sly look. "Couldn't let her pine away for Harry like _I_ did for you, could I?"

Predictably, he blushes. I merely grin, and seize hold of his arm once more.

_Now, I'll see about understanding that little look of his_, I tell myself, smirking inwardly at how willingly he follows. _But first – a little – er – persuasion…_

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_A/N:_

_Hey! I'd like to thank my new quasi-beta, Spirit White, for helping me correct the niggling errors that crept into this chapter. The last section is dedicated to her – surprise! I decided to add the conversation after all – albeit through someone else's eyes, through someone else's eyes again. Bit confusing, no? Sigh This chapter turned into a monster…a happy monster, but a monster nonetheless._

_Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed! I assure you, as you will need, after the next chapter, that I _do_ have the story planned out, and will try to put up the two next chapters instead of just one, so you're not left with _too_ much of a cliffie._

_And, as a bonus thought, I might just start posting **Part the Second** after the next two chapters, as they are strongly interwoven. _

_The next chapter – food for thought here! – will be called Chapter 9 – A Luckless Afternoon. Chew on that… ;)_

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	9. Chapter 9: A Luckless Afternoon

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_A/N: Righto, next chapter here! You know – I still haven't gotten ANY flames yet, bloody interesting, that. The last chapter was probably flame-worthy in a mild way – with the 'elegant snarry-bashing' some thoughtful snarry fan named it. That said, I will not apologise for that chapter – that was literally the way it came from me. The snarry-bashing is more of a slightly comic side-issue (I loved writing the part where Ginny leaps up and calls him a prat, more for not telling her than anything else), than anything else, as it _would_ be impossible in this fic anyway. Remember that I _am_ a H/G shipper at heart – I'll almost always write that sort of relationship, as far as I can see. I can do different stuff, but I don't know if I can ever do anything slashy. I repeat my warning to you – that's not, and may never be, what I write. So yeah. Thanks to that reviewer, though – it's always difficult to read stuff you're not accustomed to, and even harder to acknowledge it's any good…now, back to the 'flame' issue. Can someone write me one? Just for the fun of it? Thanks! Other, more specific answers to reviews will be moved to my livejournal page_

_Well, then – all I can say of this chapter is that it deserves its title – it _is_ a rather luckless afternoon, especially, as you will soon see, for Harry…Enjoy…_

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**Chapter 9: A Luckless Afternoon**

Harry found himself holding his breath, just in case.

They were in Diagon Alley, eating ice creams, they being he and Ginny.

_Ginny!_ Harry felt himself repeating, stupidly. It was mind-boggling, how such a horrible morning had become a rather nice afternoon, really. It had started, Harry thought, thoughtfully pursuing a long, escaping tendril on his Fizzwhistle's Lemon and Pumpkin Blast Sundae, with Fred and George's arrival.

No, actually – with Lupin, and the odd, easy talk they'd had together, sitting so long on Harry's still-creaking bed that their legs had cramped, Harry just pouring out everything that had been inside him for the past term, straining the seams of his life like a shirt that was far too tight. He'd told him _everything_ –

Dumbledore's offer to join the Order – which he _still_ hadn't told to anyone – apart from Snape, to annoy him (which it had, and splendidly) –

Just how angry he'd been, throughout the awful Christmas term, worrying over his silly arguments with Hermione and his useless luck with – he'd blushed but kept doggedly on – Ginny.

And, Harry thought, starting to nibble at the layer of the strange, crunchy, almost bitter substance that he'd gotten to in the sundae, the real root of it all – the changes, and where they led. Harry ploughed determinedly through to the next layer of fizzy, spine-tingling, yet mellow ice-cream. Remus had gone still when he'd retrieved the letter – one of his copies, he'd not been able to find the original in time – and looked like he would cry. He'd given Harry a fierce hug after finishing it, telling him all he needed to know.

Harry smiled to himself, setting down his spoon, covertly watching Ginny blaze through her Triple-Fudge Sundae, her red hair sticking to her cold glass, her fingers sticky with chocolate, blinking rapidly into space. He'd been deathly afraid of telling Remus that Snape was his father, for obvious reasons, and he'd dreamt uneasily, once or twice, of the sad, wrenching look of disappointment on the face of the last Marauder – and, occasionally, even worse, on Sirius' hollow features, as he repudiated his weary godson from whatever void or place he was.

Giving himself a little shake, Harry licked his lips, and absently _Scourgified_ his fingers. The reality of what had happened in his room at Grimmauld Place just two hours ago was so different from what he'd dreamt that it was astonishing. It left him feeling heavily grateful – grateful that he did, after all, have someone who would always be on his side.

"Oh, sorry, Harry – almost done – " Ginny blurted out, spying his relaxed, waiting posture. Harry nodded, watching her slurp up her ice cream messily. _There_ _is someone else_, he thought, _who will always be on my side_…

Harry still couldn't quite get his mind round the fact that they were sitting here together, eating ice cream as though Harry hadn't been bloodying his fists on the wall in rage some three or so hours before. Even that had ended strangely well, with Ginny gently healing him – unlike, say, Hermione would have done – probably end up yelling at him for being _irresponsible_ again…

Harry sighed, his heart sinking a little at the thought of telling his friends. Because he'd have to tell them eventually – or so Remus had made him really understand – to properly heal the breach once and for all. Harry frowned a little as Ginny shook her red mane, securing it into a magical hair grip, the action going unnoticed by the dark boy opposite her for once. Harry just didn't like the idea of telling Ron and Hermione and the others – they'd react predictably, of course, and he really couldn't deal with that now.

He'd still have to tell them, though.

Harry stood up a little abruptly, making sure to leave the requisite amount of money on the bar as they left Florean Fortescue's.

_I'll tell her first_, he thought impulsively, sneaking a glance at Ginny's lively face as they chatted amiably about the new broom model that was proudly on display in Quality Quidditch Supplies, despite the war. _She'll understand…_

The thought was only reinforced when his eyes met hers, and saw…something, within them. Harry kept on speaking, a little haltingly, not daring to speculate on what he'd just seen. It had been bad enough having the imprint of her soft, airy hug in his room still at the back of his mind, while shopping here, in the heavily guarded Alley, not one foot away from her.

Harry had been bewildered – understandably so, as he _had_ to have frightened and disgusted her earlier in his room – when she'd agreed to walk with him, instead of with a sullen, nonspeaking Ron, when they'd reached The Leaky Cauldron by Floo (meeting, rather vexingly, with Professor Veron, who had winked far too cheerily at him), but had not paid the feeling more attention than it was due.

Walking with Ginny Weasley, Harry thought wryly to himself, had become something not to be questioned, or taken for granted – ever.

So it was, that when Ginny asked him what he was smiling so much about, he simply told her, a bit impishly, that it was a secret.

After all, he could hardly tell her his heart was thumping happily just because she was walking beside him, could he?

No.

He certainly could not.

Which was why, instead, he found himself babbling out something else entirely.

"Ginny? Er – I haven't told anyone – definitely not Ron, or Hermione or…well, you…but…" he paused, wondering what he would say now, "erm…DumbledoreaskedmetojointheOrderandIsaidyes."

She stopped for a moment, staring at him. Harry felt panic and fear weave into him. He kept talking, if only to fill the silence –

"He asked me after the Feast – tested my – er – Occlumency…" he trailed off at the look of puzzlement and, even more alarming, anger on Ginny's face. "Ginny, are you…?" He trailed off again as she crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Merlin, Harry – just – bloody hell!" she threw her hands in the air, glaring at him all the while. "Lets go to Flourish and Blotts – you can put up a silencing ward or something – you _do_ know one, don't you?" She peered at him sceptically, at which he reddened.

"Er – sorry – didn't think of that – " he mumbled, as they made their way to a not too packed Flourish and Blotts. "Right…_Deprimo clamor_," he said, softly, once they were nestled between two rather desolate shelves of used books. Harry raised a thick ward easily around them both, inwardly cursing his stupidity for not thinking of doing so in the first place and missing Ginny's impressed look when the loud chatter of voices around them lowered to a very muted murmuring. He turned back to her, still heating with embarrassment, and her scowl returned as she laid into him.

"As I said, _bloody hell!_ Harry, it's just so infuriating the way you keep all these secrets, even from the people who can help you with them the most – "

"That's not true," Harry pointed out. "I did tell Dumbledore, and…the other person…and they were all the help I needed to sort it out – "

"Oh, _really?"_ Ginny glared at him again. "So you didn't need to talk to Remus then, did you? Terribly sorry, I am – next time I won't _bother_ telling him you were so angry about something that you wouldn't tell me that you were trying to redecorate your room with your bloody fists!"

"Ginny, I didn't mean that – I meant – I just – " Harry frowned in frustration. "Look, I was dealing with it all right – Remus _did_ help, but I _was_ dealing with it – "

"By not telling anyone anything? _That's_ how you were dealing with it?" Ginny almost yelled at him. "You keep claiming I'm your friend, and trying to include me in everything – don't think I haven't _noticed_, Harry – and yet, I still don't know at least half of what's ever currently going on!" She paused for breath, brown eyes flashing. "I feel like an idiot – no, you _make_ me feel like an idiot, standing there and sharing those stupid little knowing looks with Ron and Hermione, while I'm left twiddling my thumbs and wondering what on earth I don't know _now_ – "

"So let me tell you," Harry interrupted, eyes pleading. She paused again, mostly for breath, still glaring at him, and Harry took the opening eagerly. "I won't be able to tell you everything – most of it is someone else's secret, of course – but I'll tell you what I can," he finished, eyeing her. She eyed him back for a minute, considering his offer. Acting on a hunch, he added something. "You'll know more than Ron and Hermione will, for a bit – didn't tell them the – er – Order bit, either…"

He was rather surprised, then, when Ginny teared up. Acting without thought, Harry sort of stretched out his hand to her, wondering if he'd been stupid, adding on that last bit –

"Who _are_ you?" Ginny demanded softly, raising her hand to her eyes as if to ward off her tears. Harry stood still, withdrawing his hand, not knowing exactly what to – "You know, Harry – who you are – who's in there, who's _been_ in there all this time, pretending to be Harry Potter…" She smiled a bit, through her tears, startling Harry even more. "…suppose it's my fault, that I don't really know you – watching doesn't replace actually talking to you, I know…"

Harry reddened – more than he was used to, now – understanding what she meant. Her crush on him, he understood, _had_ blinded her to who he was, just as his crush on Cho had done the same…or, at least, it had prevented him from trying to see who she was. He replied slowly, weighing his words almost as he would do when with Snape.

"It's all right, Ginny – it's not exactly your fault, anyway," he began, steeling himself to make the reply he truly wanted, and needed to, despite his feelings, "It's not your fault that you…liked me so much. I know how that can stop you from seeing – well – things…" he trailed off slightly, not really wanting to continue, or catch her eye, "…and I think it's equally my fault as well, since I probably don't…well, _know_ you, as much as I probably should, by now."

"Harry, you don't have to – " Ginny began, sounding small. Harry cut her off immediately, suddenly knowing what he had to say, to really reassure her, and that he really would mean it.

"Don't, Ginny – I'm not doing this out of duty, or anything – I _want_ you to understand, you know, that it's not your fault." He dredged up courage enough to look her in the eye, and saw that her tears were gone. "That's all, really – I just need you to understand that, for now." She nodded slowly, momentarily dropping her gaze from his.

Suddenly, fleetingly, Harry's Order Medallion burned. He wondered for a moment, but kept on talking to Ginny, who absorbed his experiences with Occlumency of the previous year like a sponge. He cringed slightly to himself, remembering that would be another secret he needed to keep, as Lupin hadn't minced words when he'd given it to him, while the house was in uproar with the twins' antics and news.

_"What _– "_ Harry said, eyes widening as Lupin, looking rapidly around, handed him the slightly heavy, intricate necklace, which seemed to be made of something that was not quite silver, or any metal he knew. He weighed it in his palm, rapidly examining the crude sketch of the phoenix on one side, and noting the other – which was blank, with only a carving of the circle that circled the empty space. The Order medallion – the phoenix spoke for itself, and Remus wouldn't have given him anything else in such secrecy – was a largish circle of about five centimetres, and hung on a slight cord of the same metal, so intricate he could barely feel or discern the chains that formed the strong cord._

_"Dumbledore's condition, Harry, if you accompanied us to Diagon Alley," Lupin said, nodding to him as he began to struggle with the clasp. "Just slip it over your head – it'll be large enough _– " _he nodded again when Harry did so. "You'll need it, even though you're not a member _yet_," he smiled as Harry's green eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, he told me – it'll save you in an attack, with two other people of your choice, and bring you back here, where you can Floo to our newer headquarters."_

_"There are _– "_ Harry began again, excitedly._

_"Not until the initiation," Lupin amended, smiling again. "Grimmauld Place is still safe, but we started to need something bigger, and altering this house, as you can imagine, would be nigh on impossible." Harry nodded slowly, eagerly. "Your initiation will be a day after Christmas or so, with everyone else. But, for now, you'll wear the medallion, so you can escape an attack in the Alley, if there is one."_

_"Were there rumours of one…?" Harry asked anxiously. Lupin shook his head slowly, sadly._

_"Not as such…but Voldemort has grown more direct, of late…it would not surprise us if there was__, you see." Lupin nodded again as Harry tucked the medallion out of sight – something he may not have thought of so quickly, before the changes and the letter, and the constant need to hide, before that – and told him the words needed to activate the medallion. "Keep it out of sight – no one but the Order members guarding you today'll know you're wearing one…"_

Harry smiled a little to himself, taking down the silencing wards around them, moving from Flourish and Blotts with Ginny by his side, feeling a tad less fragmented than he had, over the last few weeks. He smiled at her, when she gave him a soft one, sealing the secrets he'd just poured out to her with the action.

_I can tell her of the prophecy, soon, when I tell Ron and Hermione_, Harry thought to himself, watching the way her red ponytail swished as her head shot round and her hand raised to greet someone in her year. _She'll understand_…

And that was the last coherent thought he could remember thinking for a long while, as the harsh _cracks_ of Apparation seemed to fill Diagon Alley around them, overlaid with the creeping chill of Dementors.

And then his wand was out, and he really didn't have any time to think –

* * *

_No_, I cry to myself, even as figures clothed in black start to approach us. _It was going so _well_…_

"Ginny," Harry's voice startles me from my mounting despair, "don't worry – the Order are here – " he gives me a direct look that feels like a rush of sunlight, in the impending darkness around us. " – just use anything you can think of – don't hold back, remember, _they_ won't…" the direct look seems to pierce me again, briefly, before he whispers a small, transparent shield into existence around us, not seeming to see or hear the panicked yells that have begun to surround us. "…be careful, will you?"

And, suddenly, just as suddenly as he throws out that last, odd morsel, the harsh red light of the Cruciatus curse hits our shield, dissolving it with a shriek, and the fight has begun.

Harry is marvellous – he moves much faster than he did, at the Department of Mysteries –

"_Stupefy!"_

– my voice, our voices are cold, with anger and determination, even as a group of Death Eaters, seemingly detatched from the chaos their fellows are causing, burning shops and people and animals, surround us slowly, circling, incanting –

"_Diffindo!"_ Harry cries, beside me in a flash, green eyes glowing cold with power as the spell – Merlin – severs the attacker behind me in tw –

"_Stupefy!"_ I shriek, over and over again, breaking my casting with binding curses and every harmful hex I can think of, but it's no use, the hateful bastards are drawing closer –

– a curse slams into me, from behind, freezing my movements even as I try to spin round and Stun the fool that –

A soundless cry tears my throat, as I see a flash of portly, well-meaning Romulus Veron, colourfully dressed, and I fall, fear consuming me, wondering even as darkness rushes in on me, what Veron will –

_Ginny, please, wake up…_

_…someone hit her with a Stasis curse…not Death Eater, they don't use those…_

_…Harry…couldn't save…_

_…Ginny, _please_…_

_…Ginny…_

_…Wake _UP!

I bolt awake, still screaming in fear. Veron was _there_, with the Death Eaters – what about _Harry_ now, where _is_ he –

"_Ginny!"_ a hoarse cry comes from above me, as soft, strong arms enfold me, even as other hands and magical bonds hold me down. The voice is so familiar, so soothing even in its alarm, that I stop screaming –

_"Mum!"_ I struggle against whatever spell hit me, trying to rise. "_Harry…"_

The arms hold me tight, too tight, and I suddenly know what is wrong – why she's silent –

"He's – he's _gone_ – "

My heart plummets, hard, at those words. I hang my head. _If onlys_ drench me, suffocating me, and I can feel myself slipping back into the darkness as I absorb the news.

Harry is gone. And I failed, like everyone else, to stop him.

* * *

I'm not sure, yet, how it all went so wrong. 

I don't dare to look at Remus now, even as my face sags with sadness. His grief and despair is like an open wound, awful to behold, more than the various, rapidly healing bruises and cuts that adorn his face and arms, as he stands there. Hopeless. I want to embrace him, make him let go of that iron control, let him sob in my arms, like I know he wants to.

I wonder heavily what right I have to feel sad. Remus lost much more today – this year, even. His last real friends – both gone –

_Stop it_, I wildly tell myself. _Harry can't be dead – not yet._

I ignore the foreboding that fills me, and get round to wondering where the hell Dumbledore is. We _need_ him here –

"Albus is at Diagon Alley now, working with the Ministry to help save what he can. He told me to gather you lot somewhere safe, and get you up to speed, before you rejoin the effort…"

I close my eyes briefly, berating myself for assuming foolish things – of _course_ the Headmaster knows what he's doing – must be distracted with all that went on, and still helping the Ministry's Recovery Squad, fickle lot of fools they are…

I hang my head with shame, even as Mad-Eye continues to speak, in that hoarse, raspy voice I now know he always assumes after an attack.

After a loss.

I shift on my feet, acutely feeling my shame and despair. The attack hadn't been entirely unexpected, which was even worse. It was with horror that we fought, horror and hope, mingled uncomfortably as we saw flashes of Harry, standing his ground, fighting like any one of us.

Dropping, like any one of us.

I suppose it's stupid of us, expecting so much from him. Even me, having seen glimpses of his raving in Grimmauld Place, having witnessed his pale, gaunt face in that desolate, too-clean kitchen at Privet Drive…I shake my head at myself. I believed in him, somehow, foolishly – that he'd escape the trap that had rapidly closed about him and frantic little Ginny.

That he wouldn't drop to the earth like a stone, like anyone else, writhing with the Cruciatus curse, stilling as something else hit him. I remember the horror that filled me then, as I watched the Death Eaters seize him easily, suddenly disappearing from the midst of the frenzy they'd helped to create.

_Listen, Tonks, damn you_ – I tell myself, realising that Remus is speaking.

He's describing something Dumbledore told him to do, I think. Then, in broken, anguished tones, Remus falters out that he gave him a _medallion_, and where is it –

The burnished, bloody pendant is cast before us by some unknown hand, onto the table we array ourselves round. Everyone goes silent, even as the weary voice of George Weasley tells us, haltingly, that his brother Ron found it, and that the poor boy saw it cut from his neck before they took him away.

_No…not Harry…_

Almost every heart seems to sing with that thought – I can feel the despair seeping through everyone, seeping through me. Dumbledore always made us understand, in his subtle way, that Harry _was not to be lost_.

And, now, he is.

Just that, lost. Tears sting my eyes as more shame and despair flow over me in waves – I failed, we all failed –

Mad-Eye keeps on speaking, detailing casualties, detailing what was destroyed, not bothering to state the obvious, the spectre of our failiure. The small, impromptu meeting goes painfully on, cut by the sniffs of some of the Order members, some of them coming, unashamedly, from me, when the doors to the drawing room of Grimmauld Place burst open, to reveal Ginny.

_God – she looks –_

I can hardly keep myself from the muggle exclamation at times like these. They flow from me like they do from my father at times like these, especially at that stretched, white face, features hardened with some kind of furious despair even as her drawn frame hobbles her into the room –

"_Veron!"_ she seems to choke out. "Where's Veron?" Mad-Eye starts, blinking at her, his other eye swivelling, slightly confused, round the room.

"He's not here, Weasley – casualty, that one, I believe – "

"_Ha_," Ginny spat out, her mother, distraught, finally appearing behind her. "That _bastard_ – "

"_Ginny!"_ I can hear Molly Weasley say sternly, her tone shaking with frustration, and the same despair that seems to be rooted in everyone today – "…shouldn't be here – get back to your room – not strong enough – " I can hear her mutter loudly as Ginny's mouth works soundlessly, something rendering her inarticulate with fury.

"She's right, Ginny," Arthur's tired tone comes from near the door, "that curse took its toll – you won't be able to – " Ginny emits a strangled sort of scream.

"That _curse_," she heaves, fists thrashing against her mother's strong arms, "came from _Romulus Veron!"_ Murmurings of fear and unbelief fill the room, even as Ginny wrenches free from her mother again, ignoring the arms that seek her out again. "_I saw him! I swear, I SAW HIM DO IT!"_ Molly's strength tells, forcing Ginny back toward the entrance. "_Where is he! He'll have him – he'll have Harry – I want _– " Her cries, half screams in their intensity, fade from the room, even as it erupts into a fury of muttered imprecations and curses.

I mutter some myself, gripping my wand in a bloody hand, daring to look at Remus.

He actually frightens me for the first time – completely still, muscles writhing, eyes glowing with a feral, wanton anger, humbling in its ferocity. He suddenly moves past me, making me tremble from the contact, his skin is burning hot –

"Scry his medallion!" he orders, stalking over to Moody.

"I don't understand – " comes the mutter of Hestia Jones, from behind me. Remus turns on her, his brown eyes lit with ferocity.

"We'll know – if he's dead, it'll tell us that, and, more _importantly_, if he's not, it'll tell us his location." Mad-Eye nods slowly as he continues. "If his medallion is somewhere else, we'll know he was captured, somehow, along with Harry." His eyes shine fiercely, his fists contorting by his sides – "And if his medallion is somewhere in Diagon Alley, he's a traitor – he wouldn't have dared risk anything by taking it with him…" The room murmurs and nods loudly its agreement.

I only have eyes for Remus – there'll be blood on _those_ hands if he ever meets that fat shopkeeper of a man again, if that medallion's in –

"_Look!"_ The order from someone near Moody is almost unneeded, as people press forward to see the scrying mirror, carried by leaders in the Order. I cannot reach it –

"_Diagon Alley!"_ The whispers, filled with rage and despair, reach me before I can reach the tight group around the mirror.

My hand clenches spasmodically round my wand.

There'll be blood on _my_ hands, if I see that fat bastard again. Harry's suffered ten times more than any normal teenager…and now this.

Literally in Voldemort's hands.

My head bows. _And who are we to get him back?_

* * *

_A/N:_

_Well, well, well…sorry if this chapter is a bit abrupt, the way its done. The last two parts are from different perspectives for a reason you'll understand, in Part the Second._

_Right, the next chapter is called _Chapter 10: The Hippogriffs Are Sad_, or something similar. It'll probably be from Severus' POV from halfway through, when he arrives at the Order meeting to hear what's become of his son. No more details than that, though. If I can, as I've said countless times, I'll try and update the story with the chapter after that as well. If that doesn't prove possible, then know that I passed out after my strenuous beginning modern dance class, which is tomorrow, and promises to try my aching muscles __._

_Thanks to everyone who reviews and posts on my group. Feel free to rant there if you like, about how misguided I am in spiriting Harry off or whatnot. I'll be there to answer your flam – sorry, remarks – in a suitably ridiculous manner. Cheerio!_

* * *


	10. Chapter 10: The Hippogriffs Are Sad

_A/N: Well, well, well – here we go. I decided to use Severus as our eyes throughout this chapter instead of just partly, so you guys can find out where on earth he's been. _

_Answers to reviews at the bottom as usual. Disclaimer applies universally, of course._

_In this chapter, we find out what the Order has been doing to find Harry, what Snape has been up to on his recruiting trip to Romania, and what he does with the awful news that Harry is in Voldemort's hands…Enjoy…_

**Chapter 10: The Hippogriffs Are Sad**

_Finally_, was the word that always came to Severus without fail, after an international trip, as he felt his feet land (shakily) again on British soil. _Finally, indeed_, he repeated to himself, watching as the refugees – _recruits, Dumbledore calls them_, he thought, lip lifting in disdain – appeared in straggles, the tiny family of three appearing first, and holding his attention like always.

The mother, as he perceived it, was tall and forbidding, though years of hardship in her native land seemed to have taken much of her peculiar beauty, leaving behind a fierce nobility that had puzzled, but not occupied him, embroiled as he had been in the various obstacles that had prevented their little expedition arriving in England on time. She shared her dark hair and eyes with her husband, whose face was far harder. He had hooded, masked eyes, almost as black as Severus' own, and a highly suspicious demeanour about him. Their daughter, last to rise to her feet – evidently unaccustomed to international Apparation – was the one who captured the eye most – not that he would ever show it, not to those fierce, flinty eyes, a sign that her lovely features and delicate, hooded eyes hid something far stronger than her slightly plump little frame seemed to contain.

"All right, Severus?" he suppressed the urge to start and fire off a Stunner, whirling round to meet the familiar voice. He glared at the newcomer – it was that fool, Argus Pritchard, one of the newer recruits of the Order, almost as jolly and round as that other fool, Veron. _Not so jolly today,_ Severus observed maliciously, inclining his head toward him impatiently, wondering what ailed him.

Or so he did, at least, until the dour, weary Potions Master peered closely at his companion, as he drew closer – even in this dark night, he could see him twitching with some nameless emotion or recollection, despair emanating so strongly from his thinner self that the accomplished Legilimens felt like recoiling.

"_What happened_, Argus?" he asked quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of their eleven recruits, who were still shaking with the after-effects of the long series of jumps they had just performed, all the way from Romania.

"Not here, Severus," Pritchard got out, jerking his head in something that appeared to be meant as a shake. "_Not here_…" he eyed Severus almost wildly, even as his wife conversed with a drawn, pale Charlie Weasley, who had just appeared close by, nearer to the edge of the tiny clearing they stood within.

"All clear, Severus – we can start for secondary Headquarters, as Charlie informs me we're not being followed…" came Rosemary Pritchard's stern, commanding tone, underlain by something, Severus thought, with astonishment, remarkably like fear. He exchanged an uneasy glance with the Weasley boy – something he would _never_ have deigned to do, before this trip. The boy had proven surprisingly resourceful, helping to extract the frightened family of that boy from the Triwizard Tournament – _Krum_, he remembered, snorting to himself – amidst the attack that nearly put a stop to their uncertain little mission once and for all.

"Come here," Severus ordered them all, dropping to his knees and opening up the medium-sized grey case he never went without, withdrawing several tiny little vials from its pockets and compartments. He enlarged all of them with a few flicks, levitating one to each member of the party. "Energizing Potion," he supplied, at the dubious looks everyone but the Weasley boy and the Order members directed at him. "I advise you to _drink_," he continued acidly, "unless you'd rather drop along the way…we must walk to the nearest safe fireplace, from where we will Floo to Headquarters. Walk quickly, and silently, and _be ready_ with your wands, for Merlin's sake, if you want to survive the rest of this journey." He downed his own, slightly stronger vial of potion, then disposed of the rest of the vials immediately, Banishing them to a ditch he knew not far from the clearing.

"You know my dangers, all of you – if we are seen by our enemies, I _must_ separate and attack you, or depart, and hope that no one sees me do so." Severus said that with the certainty of a man who would kill anyone unfortunate enough to see him thus, and was therefore assured of his safety. "If I am called, you will follow Weasley, and these two Order members here, to safety. If we are attacked by Death Eaters, you must stick close to them, and join hands when they tell you to. If you are left behind in the escape attempt, we will not rescue you – we _cannot_, with our resources so low." He glared at each of them in turn, only the family of three and the two elder Krums glaring back. "It is up to _you_ to make sure that _does not happen_. Let us go."

And, with that, they set off for the nearby abandoned farmhouse, as fast as their limbs could carry them, Severus Snape going before them, his dark cloak disappearing in the darkness of the forest. They all walked and jogged intermittently in silence, stopping once or twice when Severus raised his hand, and he and the Weasley boy searched with magic for a mile's radius around them, for any sort of foe or being that could further impede their journey.

Three such stops later, their journey was at an end. The abandoned farmhouse loomed in a clearing before them, its peeling whitewashed stone shining starkly in the moonlight that penetrated the larger clearing. After Severus scanned the clearing again, motioning to the others to keep back in the trees, he stepped forward, muttering the passwords needed to lower the strong wards he'd risen here two weeks ago. The wards lowered easily, and the tired party stepped forward, pouring eagerly into the house, which was far warmer than the chill, bracing night air outside.

The house was empty of furnishings and paint, but had sturdy stone walls that reeked of magic. As the dishevelled party warmed themselves by the magical fire that soon roared in the huge fireplace in the empty living room, Severus allowed himself a moment of pride, even as he and the Weasley boy enlarged the huge boxes of Floo Powder they had taken on their persons at all times. He'd done it – his task was almost over, now that they were all quaking by the fire in Dumbledore's empty cottage, two hundred miles from Hogwarts, hidden deep in an old wood no Muggle or Wizard had ventured into for years. Snape nodded slightly to himself, conjuring pieces of paper with the requisite words.

"Take these – memorize them as fast as you can – " he ordered, distributing the papers hastily. "You will be Flooing to that location immediately, one by one. Weasley," the boy nodded wearily, "will go first, to ensure that all is well. When he returns, you will line up and Floo to Grimmauld Place one by one, followed by Weasley, the Pritchards," he nodded at the two sombre Order members, "and myself. I will temporarily close the connection as I follow you, so no one and nothing can return. I advise you now to forget this cottage exists – you would never have been able to find it without my help, as it is owned by Headmaster Dumbledore himself." Snorting inwardly at the surprise on all their expressions, he nodded to Charlie Weasley, who left at once.

He took next to no time to return, Severus having gathered the pieces of paper and destroyed them, making acid comments along the way. A look of puzzlement was his honest, too-open, freckled face.

"What is it?" Snape barked at him. He had no patience for blithering _now_ – they had eleven recruits to ferry to the rotting mansion, all beginning to shiver again with exhaustion. Even now, he could feel the effects of the strengthening potion begin to withdraw, leaving him gasping sporadically for breath.

"Odd – doesn't matter – should go ahead – "

"You heard him – go on – "

The exodus began, and proceeded smoothly, Romanian and Bulgarian accents pronouncing the same four words again and again: "Numbler Twelve, Grimmauld Place!" Weasley soon went, followed by the Pritchard woman. The man turned to him, looking almost miserable.

"Severus – I must warn you, great misfortune has befallen us – " he began, shakily. The dour man exploded angrily – the fool was weakening rapidly, just as he was, and he had _no_ desire to be stuck ferrying his bulk to Grimmauld Place when he himself could barely _stand_ any longer.

"Misfortune that must wait! Begone, before you faint into those flames and leave me stuck with your fat carcass!" Snape snapped at him hoarsely, leaning heavily against the mantle, watching the man quiver with fear, as he cast the powder into the place, and intoned the four words. Severus followed him rapidly, incanting the words that would raise the wards again and close the Floo connection behind him once he was gone.

It was well past his bedtime, and, as he was in need of a much needed rest, so it was easy to dismiss Pritchard's warning momentarily, despite the look of rabid fear and despair on the man's usually disgustingly cheerful countenance. Severus Floo'ed directly to one of the small bedrooms he knew was connected to the Network, the one containing the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus, collapsing into the bed within as the green flames died down. The misfortune, he thought, could _wait_.

* * *

Five hours of unbroken deep, sleep later, Severus was woken by someone tearing through the wards he'd laid round the bed. He bolted into action, furious that someone would actually think to _wake_ him by force… 

…and came face to face with a positively _feral_ Remus Lupin, who looked rather like he dearly wanted to rip Severus open with his bare hands. Or claws – Severus checked quickly, reaching for his wand. He'd never _heard_ of a werewolf transforming due to rage, but still –

"_What do you think you are doing?"_ Remus hissed at him. Severus blinked, rather surprised, as _he'd_ just been about to ask the question.

"_Sleeping_, Lupin – an activity I _need_ to continue, if you'll – "

"Get _up_," snarled the werewolf, actually deigning to manhandle the shocked (and increasingly angry) Potions Master off the bed.

"How _dare_ you – " Severus spluttered, still feeling tremors in his tired legs and arms, as he wavered on his feet, turning smoothly to face the still-seething werewolf, whose eyes glowed with feral light as he spoke again.

"Drink a potion, drink your own _blood_, I don't care what you do – you're coming _now_, to the Order meeting below, whether I'll have to drag you there or not – "

"Have you lost your sen – "

"_Drink your potion!"_ thundered Lupin, seizing Severus by the arms and shaking him. "If you care _anything_ for your son, drink them and come _now!"_ That got Severus' attention, but in rather the wrong way. He violently wrenched himself from the arms of the werewolf, two spots of colour appearing in his cheeks.

"Are you _mad_? I have no – "

"Harry told me," Lupin said, leaving go of him abruptly, grabbing up the grey case that Severus had lain by his bed.

"Don't do that – give that _here_ – " A small struggle ensued as the two men grappled momentarily over the grey case. Severus managed to wrest it from him, finally starting to feel a little alarmed at the state of Lupin, who was quivering with rage, and yet, seemed to be steeped, much like the two jumpy Pritchards, in despair. Acting on instinct, he drew forth one of his stronger Energising Potions, enlarging it and downing it in several gulps, and reshrinking his case so he could carry it hidden on his person, and be ready for whatever task befell him now.

That blasted _boy_ of his – no telling what trouble he'd embroiled himself in _this_ time –

"_Hurry!"_ Severus almost stared at Lupin, who was now curling his fists into his shaggy, messy hair, an expression of near madness crossing his haggard face. Severus obeyed, wondering what on _earth_ could be going on, following Lupin down the still-creaking staircases of Grimmauld Place, to the large kitchen in the basement. He slipped silently into the room behind a now-trembling Lupin, then stopped, shocked by the atmosphere within.

The air in the large room, nearly empty of all its normal furniture – he spied the usual tables and chairs in a corner of the room, shrunk out of the way of the many Conjured chairs that filled the space – positively _hummed_ with tension. Severus gulped involuntarily, feeling guilty for avoiding the meeting he'd known would be taking place, and which, by the fervour of raised voices within the room, was well underway. As he threaded his way to a small seat (the usual one he tried to take near the fireplace), he was thrown off by the lack of attention paid to his entrance, as well as that of Lupin.

Snape sat quickly, his blood beginning to race with the tension that lay thick in the air, wondering, for the third time, what on earth could be going on. Usually, a large number of people eyed him as he came in, either with fear and trepidation (mostly from old students he'd taught) or aversion and mistrust. Today, they barely even noticed him – people were arguing loudly, pressing close to someone he knew must be the Headmaster, by the flashes of purple, starred robes he could glean from amidst the tumult. Suddenly, the standing crowd around Albus Dumbledore separated enough for the old wizard to catch sight of his dour spy, and his voice cut through the general clamour as he approached him.

"Severus! Thank Merlin – I was beginning to think something had gone wrong…" he peered at Snape, who felt guilt stab him sharply as he examined his true master's countenance. _He looks so _weary_…I should have come earlier –_

"I do not see the Krums, or the rest of the recruits," was Snape's brusque reply, as he rose to meet the old man halfway. "You have been waiting for me?" As he drew closer to Dumbledore, the old wizard's appearance disturbed him even more – the lines in his face seemed to be more deeply drawn than ever, and his shoulders seemed to sag under a heavy burden. Remembering the mysterious imprecation of Lupin, he scanned the room quickly, as he had not thought to do at first, for Ha – his son. "I do not see Potter in our midst, Headmaster," Severus put forth coldly, a sharp anxiety blossoming and taking hold in his heart, taking him by surprise. "Is the boy in trouble, as usual?"

"You _bastard_," a loud hiss came suddenly from behind him. Snape turned sharply on the source of it, finding himself face to face with the drawn visage of Ronald Weasley, whose features practically _shone_ with malice. "You don't _care_ – you don't even _care_ – " Sharp words from the Granger girl quieted him to a low, angry mutter, even as Snape saw, with not a little alarm, that she was just as drawn and pale as the Weasley boy was. He needed to know –

"Harry was kidnapped, Severus," the voice of Dumbledore came from behind him, the words stunning the spy, who turned abruptly on his master, his countenance strangely alive with horror. "A week ago, in Diagon Alley, the Death Eaters surrounded him, overwhelming him and Ginevra Weasley and apprehending him by portkey, and we have not heard of or from him since…"

The words seemed to Severus like sharp knives, that stabbed him again and again, his face bleaching whiter than normal as he stared at the Headmaster, not fully comprehending –

"Do you understand, Severus?" Dumbledore's blue eyes pinned him, full of sorrow, piercing through him.

"What? But the Dark Lord did not call me – "

"You know well what he believed of your trip, Severus," Dumbledore cut in sharply, fear entering into those hard blue eyes.

All too suddenly, Severus Snape knew what was being asked of him, or thought he did, for he straightened, like a black arrow, his face becoming blank.

He would gladly do it, give this – and gladly wring the neck of that _boy_ of his, when he found him, for driving the Headmaster to this state.

"I will go, Headmaster – but first, I must – "

Dumbledore slowly shook his head. Severus' eyes widened, as he struggled to keep his face a blank mask, his thoughts whirling furiously behind his dark gaze.

"But, Headmaster – "

"No, Severus." Dumbledore's words hammered down on him, so that he almost reeled with the pure jolts of shock that shivered through him. The room, around them, was still, except for sniffs coming from unknown quarters. They were all silent, almost resentfully so, as if they'd heard the argument behind this – this _folly_ before –

"Headmaster, it is not wise – " Severus began, rage and despair starting to bubble in his blood. Dumbledore cut him off again, starting to move back towards his former position at the centre of the room, speaking slowly.

"We have searched, Severus – in every way possible to us, without abandoning the guardianship of our most valuable resources and locations. We have searched in vain – eight days, he has been gone, and nothing – _nothing_ – " anger seeped into the old wizard's tone, a mixture of anger and helplessness that struck fear into the dour spy's heart. Dumbledore sat heavily, eyes turning on him again, almost pleading.

"You would risk your position taking action, Severus – you remember what happened last time, when you went before Voldemort when he did not summon you." He paused, blue eyes hardening with resolve. "He is becoming bold, Severus – far too bold…" The old man's eyes held his, shimmering with awful intensity. "The purpose of this meeting is to organise the cessation of our search, and the redirection of our efforts towards aiding the Ministry against the numerous attacks – "

"_No_…" the single word rent the air, the grief in it so palpable it made Severus flinch. Lupin rose to his feet near the Headmaster, an awful expression on his face as he made for Dumbledore, his frame shaking with fury. "I _won't_ – I _will_ not abandon him – he is all I have _left_ – " His words seemed to tear at the air, seemed to fill the silent, tense room with the grief and fury of one man.

"There is _nothing else_ to be done, Remus," Dumbledore rose to his feet, meeting Lupin's wild fury with radiating strength. "I _need_ you elsewhere – "

"_And if he isn't dead?"_

The words hung in the air, weighing Snape down, his heart and mind suddenly battling with such ferocity that he felt himself begin to shake in his seat – he didn't remember sitting down –

"And _if he is?"_ Dumbledore's quiet, forceful tone filled the room, finally stirring it from its oppressive silence. He continued to speak, over the angry murmurings that raged across the room, as everyone fought against the terrible truth of those words.

Severus bowed his head, gripping his knees so tightly they hurt, the battle raging on within him.

_If Harry is dead_…Horror and resolve mingled within him, jolting him into action. If Harry was indeed dead, their cause was all but lost – their very survival hinged, now, on striking back at the forces of Voldemort with impunity, and garnering as many allies as possible to their side. Severus shook his head violently. They had to be ready, and be strong. Dumbledore's awful words rang dismally in his heart, filling him with despair.

He just wished, bitterly, that he could do _something_, for once.

Severus drew his breath sharply in between his teeth, feeling the throb of loss begin within him. It wasn't fair, he angrily told himself. Harry – he could not deny him that now – Harry should be _here_, within this same room, eyeing him rudely and making even ruder comments, displaying his ineptness to everyone, not lying dead in some nameless grave near Voldemort.

Hatred like he'd never known before welled up in him, filling his ears with the roaring of his charged blood. The Dark Lord took _everything_ – it just wasn't –

"He's not dead," the wild tones of the Weasley boy came from behind him. Severus did not turn round – he knew what he would see.

Anger. Despair.

"Ron, _please_ – " The Granger girl's thin, anxious tone held more of what ran rampant within the dark kitchen…and even within him.

_Helplessness_.

It seemed to flood through him, leaving a hopeless anger in its wake. Nothing the boy suffered ever seemed to be _enough_ – he'd surely earned the right to live, surely earned the right to struggle foolishly for the Weasley girl's useless affections –

"What about Veron?" the soft voice came from behind him – it was her, she sounded so –

_Veron_.

Snape cursed, a new current of fear and anger running through him. If he was a spy – if he had turned –

"What do you speak of, Weasley?" he demanded, turning on the pale girl.

"He was there," she answered bitterly, uncaring that she spoke to the man she still saw, no doubt, as Harry's enemy – "He cursed me – he _laughed_ – " Anger shined through her, lighting her empty eyes, making her look ghastly, almost terrifying. "_Merlin_ – if I ever – " She trailed off, fury seeping off her in waves. For the first time, Severus could _see_ her in that awful Chamber – see the traces of the young, evil boy that still accompanied her frank face and red, innocuous hair – but no matter.

_The matter now_, Severus told himself, _is my son_.

Dumbledore argued on, refuting the desperate claims of the Weasley boy, who would not be silent, and of Lupin, whose grief and rage drove him to stand and argue and storm before the whole Order, which still murmured their own grief, their own helplessness.

Severus listened with only one ear, of course. _Dumbledore has evidently given up_, or, at least, he thought that much, staring at the deepened lines on the Headmaster's face. _Many will follow him – it would be unwise not to, but…_

But. There was always one, sometimes several, perplexing and worrying Snape with their ramifications. He could not stay here, and work covertly against Voldemort as he was now forced to, for fear of being seen to associate overmuch with the Order members. He could not leave and begin a search for – for his _son_ alone, or with any sort of company – _that fool Lupin would savage me before I left on _that_ mission without him_, he thought wryly. The Order needed him, and greatly, especially in the event that there – Severus' heart beat painfully – nothing left to find.

There had to be other avenues of finding what he needed to know, there _had_ to. Severus sat through the rest of the meeting in a daze, formulating plans of action and throwing them aside, assuring himself of what he would need to find out.

He needed, first of all, to alert the Dark Lord of his return. _I will be tortured, of course_, Severus mused, his dark eyes unseeing of the chaos surrounding him. _For daring to go to my relatives, even when it displeased him – but that is no matter. What I need to know is the most important thing –_

_Find out Veron, and how he joined_. Severus' thin lips became even thinner – he'd see the fat fool _roast_ on an open spit if he'd done _anything_ to Harry –

_Find out if Harry still lives_. Severus did not allow his heart to dwell on that one. It was too painful…far too painful. He put it from his mind with practiced motions – the third thing would undoubtedly take care of that –

_Find out what the Dark Lord is planning_. This would be, perhaps, the hardest and most lengthy task – it was now evident to him that he had fallen in his hated Lord's disfavour, and would need to do something, or bring some information to –

Every Order medallion in the room suddenly lit brightly, as they were supposed to. Severus found his unruly heart beating much too fast – if it was _Harry_, somehow –

"_No_ – " Dumbledore's whisper of denial silenced the room better than a shout could, as he peered at the flashing words on the clear side of his own, rather larger medallion. His old, lined face came up from his reading of the medallion – it had to be bad news, of course, but – suddenly the Headmaster stood, the lines of his tall frame resonating with power and fury.

"What is – " someone began.

"Hogsmeade, my friends," Dumbledore said, stilling the room in its panic. "It is under attack…"

Chaos exploded under those four words, everyone dashing to their feet almost all at once, laying hold of wands and such.

Severus rose too, summoning his much larger, darker case of potions. The Order would need all the help they could get, and they received it in the form of Energizing and Healing Potions, and began to Floo out of the two or three fireplaces of the house like an unbroken, wild flow of water. Remus handed out unobtrusive portkeys for the wounded, his despair still evident on his wolfish features.

Severus, watching the defeated, yet determined exodus of Order members, bowed his head, and wondered.

Wondered if he'd ever again set eyes on his – his _son_ – presumably dead at the Dark Lord's hand.

Severus gripped his wand tightly as he strode for the fireplace, being one of the last few adults to leave, apart from the rebellious Weasley brats and Granger, who all begged to join the action. He would do his part well – he would find out the truth, and use it.

And use it well – to free his son, if he could.

And the squabbling family of Weasleys would wonder for a long, long time, why Severus Snape had a small bounce in his step. It was as if, Ginny would later remark, he had new reason – new purpose.

* * *

_A/N: Well, well, well, again. Answers to reviews are on my livejournal, the link to which is on my profile page as usual (i go by uchethegirl on livejournal, just for extra info). Feel free to post comments or suggestions – I'll be glad to hear them. The next chapter, Chapter 11, is fittingly named _Desperate Deeds: Reprise_. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

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	11. Chapter 11: More Desperate Deeds

_A/N: Okay, here it is – the story is unwinding, finally. Enjoy the tension as it stretches out in every member of the Order as Severus begins his deadly little quest. _

_But first, I give you fair warning – violence and swearing and such nasty things exist – if you don't like it, hold off till the next chapter, or let go of this fic, once and for all. _

_And, secondly, there _is_ a horrid cliff-hanger at the end – one that will be overcome by Saturday, God willing, but one you'll have to wait and squirm a bit for. Don't say I didn't warn you – I've got a nasty little test in my only class tomorrow morning, and I need to be there, so Chapter 12 must wait. _

_For now, here are _More Desperate Deeds_…Enjoy…_

**Chapter 11: More Desperate Deeds**

He hadn't really been expecting to find anything.

Really, he hadn't.

Severus' brow creased with worry as he stared back into the merry grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, swirling the excellent wine in his glass as his sharp mind went over the unmistakeable flashes of humour and excitement in the escaped Death Eater's face during their rapid flicks of conversation.

Severus Snape took a long sip of his wine, letting a contemptuous sneer fall over his features.

"They were almost intolerable," he let himself mutter. "Believe me, Lucius – if it wasn't for their bloody _money_, I'd be a wanted murderer in Romania this very day…" Lucius' eyes flashed with more amusement, disconcertingly bright with excitement. Some instinct prodded at Severus to continue, to extend the lie, and he did, easily, wondering why on earth he was driven to do so. "…of course, almost a quarter of it is going, by law, to that _insufferable_ little nephew of theirs…" He grimaced, affecting disgust, watching Lucius' reactions keenly.

It was there – he was sure of it – that little quiver of excitement that signified that Lucius Malfoy had found a new victim for his disquieting desires. Desires that still drove him to ask, his face adopting a mildly interested look Severus knew the danger in, a seemingly innocuous question.

"A nephew, you say?" Lucius gracefully lowered himself into the couch, next to Snape, who swirled his wine before languidly continuing, as if the subject bored him to the core.

"Yes, indeed," Severus went on, sighing deeply. "One Tobias Snape – the only remaining scion of our esteemed _family_ to have a claim to the word 'handsome', too." Severus sipped again, rolling the lie around in his head. "Empty-headed young brat, that one. Probably fucks everything that moves, with that face – flirting with his Aunt like a common prostitute." Snape motioned bitterly, rolling his eyes. "It is _tradition_ that _I_ flirt with her, you remember – " he snorted, pretending to ignore the familiar gleam brighten in grey eyes opposite him, " – young fool wanting to throw that in my face, for some reason."

"_How_ young, again, Severus?" Lucius asked, almost innocently.

Snape set down his empty glass on the small coffee table between them, his heart beating fast. He was _right_ – this meeting, this seemingly chance meeting – must have something to do with Harry. Lucius was almost _twitching_ in remembered pleasure…bile rose in his throat, strong enough to make him cringe.

He _couldn't_ let himself think about – anything like that – he'd be distracted…

Severus Snape forced himself to reach for the bottle between them, making his actions almost hungry, as if he _needed_ it. Predictably, Lucius reached it first, filling his glass with a hungry expression on his face.

"Young enough." Snape shrugged lightly, hoping his muscles wouldn't feel like this, all bunched and knotted and stiff, when he found his son's body…and learned what had been done to it. He forced himself to continue. "Only a month or two older than your Draco, I believe…disgustingly good looking, for a Snape, and even more aware of it. Insufferable, indeed." He peered sharply at Lucius, who was smiling viciously. "My misfortune amuses you, of course – "

"No, Severus," Lucius said, impeccable lips twitching, leaning back into the handsome leather of the chair he sat in. "It is, rather, a very _humorous_ circumstance, that holds my attention." He downed the contents of his glass, setting it, hard on the table, a triumphant air seeming to comb through the bones of his long, lithe body. He leaned forward abruptly, the disconcerting mirth still dancing in his eyes as he asked the question Severus had been waiting for.

"What news have you…heard…of Harry Potter, from that fool, Dumbledore?" Severus allowed a slow smile to cross his features, anger boiling beneath it unseen.

"That we have finally been rid of his everlasting presence," he said simply, eyeing Lucius Malfoy, who – Merlin – _grinned_.

"Indeed?"

It really only took one word for Severus' faith in Dumbledore's choice to come crashing down. The boy was _alive_ – he _had_ to be, for Malfoy to be looking like that, like he alone knew some incredibly wonderful secret.

"Indeed." _If you touched him_…

"Come, Severus." The elder Malfoy stood abruptly, leaving the evidence of their little drink to be cleared by more able hands. "The Dark Lord told me to bring you to him immediately," he explained obliquely, at Severus' shrewd glance. "We are, once more, in need of your – your _expertise_." Another grin flashed across his face.

Severus Snape followed Lucius Malfoy to the large, handsome hearth of the fireplace in his expensive study, quelling the urge to strangle the blond, slightly shabby aristocrat with his own breeches.

* * *

An hour later, it was all Snape could do not to kill his former friend on the spot. He'd come to the meeting, heart thudding with mixed feelings of dread and anticipation, barely registering the Cruciatus curse Voldemort negligently bandied his way, for leaving his reappearance in the Inner Circle a day later than his return to Britain. He'd stood in the familiar circle, helped, his face a bored, impassive mask, to torture a hapless Auror they had captured in the attack on Hogsmeade with his potions, and even helped to dispatch the bleeding, oozing remnants of the shaking young man that had been there before.

All the while, his mind had imagined seeing his son, conjuring images of a bloody, tortured young man, foolish green eyes still defiant with that indefinite _something_ that came from _him_ –

And nothing could really have prepared him worse for the sight before him now.

Near death. Two clean-sounding words; two words that could have such a host of meanings. Two words that could mean a pale, shrunken figure, slowly releasing hold of life. Two words that could also mean this battered, quasi-human body that thrashed weakly as it was dragged into the circle by two smiling Death Eaters. Two words that clearly defined the hopelessness in those green eyes as they looked wearily round the looming circle, before settling on the grey ground beneath it, as if to say, _nothing new. I've seen this. I am still here. Still dying. Still living. Because of you, Severus, because of your craven –_

"Examine him – _now_." The Dark Lord's command was unmistakeable in its intention for Severus, who stepped forward, his placid, mildly disgusted features hiding the rage, the despair, the _guilt_ that flooded and raged through him as he cast diagnostic spells, not bothering to touch the boy – if he did, he would leave –

His gaze remained, for a tiny moment, on Lucius Malfoy, grinning beside his master, winking at Severus in promise, promising _this_ for his false nephew. _You're a dead man – either way. I'll see you _die_, Malfoy…_

"The boy has been…_used_, Master," Severus put forth coldly, hearing his words echo through the now-silent clearing, as the Death Eaters stilled, waiting for the punishment his words could bring – it was well known that Voldemort wanted to perform worse crimes on the boy _himself_, and that any Death Eater that mistreated him out of turn would suffer a very _painful_ punishme –

"It was my will, Severus," his master replied, almost careless in the way he set his shoulders, red eyes gleaming with amusement as his eyes sought out someone –

_Veron_.

Liquid fire seemed to course through Severus' veins, numbing him with rage.

_My son!_

"Heal him, Severus…" Even as the Dark Lord retired through his cruelly carved throne, as the circle of his most faithful followers relaxed, the bloody flesh before them stirred, and those green eyes, awful in their emptiness, met Severus' impassive black, even as he knelt down, shrugging as he opened his potions case, extracting the required –

"_You TRAITOROUS BASTARD!"_ His son's raw voice seemed to pierce through Severus' skin, through his _brain_, the force of his perceived betrayal shivering through the boy's sodden flesh as he struggled to rise, the heavy manacles chains on his arms and legs dragging holes in his wounded skin, having been _clacked_ closed once he'd entered the clearing.

"Be silent, Potter," Snape heard himself spit out, his numb limbs waving his wand about in the complex spells required for his son's healing. The laughter of the Inner Circle seemed to come from far away, as he struggled to control himself, to stop himself from seizing his son then and there, and taking him away…

"…_NEVER SHOULD'VE BEEN BORN…"_

He forced a potion into Harry's mouth, choking his insults from him on purpose, needing to make him _get it down_, trying to ignore the guilt, and the piercing, scraping grief and rage in his son's screams…

"…_WISH I COULD SEE YOU BLEED TO DEATH…"_

"My task is finished, Master," Snape said easily, coldly, his heart seeming to want to wrench itself from his tall, proud frame, as he reshrunk his potions case, walking away from the mangled, screaming body of his son.

"Take your vengeance if you wish it, Severus," the smooth, sibilant voice stopped him, making him quiver with what appeared, to Voldemort, to be anticipation. _Another test_.

Quivering with what Severus knew was shame, he turned on his son. _It must be done…_

"Oh, and Potter – a parting _gift_…_Crucio!"_

* * *

Apparating back to the designated street near Grimmauld Place was like a waking dream. Severus stumbled down the dark, dingy streets, shaking and shaking and _shaking_.

Those screams…

"…_you TRAITOROUS BASTARD…"_

Severus gulped the stinging night air into his lungs, clenching his bloody fists – bloody from touching his _son_ –

His chest squeezed painfully, forcing him to slow down. He'd had to curse him – Merlin, his own _son_ –

Harry's screamed imprecations seemed to echo over and over in his skull, driving him hysterical. He _was_ a scheming, treacherous fiend – he _was_ – doing that – torturing – his son – seeing him – _cry_ – with _pain_ – pain _he'd_ caused –

A sob rent the air, stopping Severus in his tracks. He gripped his wand, hard, forcing the painful, stabbing grief down, forcing the memory _away_, but the raw, wounded voice of Harry Potter kept ranting on and on and on in his head and he couldn't think and –

Thank _Merlin_, he was here – Albus would – would know what to do – would –

"Severus!"

Snape, hearing his name, staggered to a stop, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he faced the Order, feeling like his guilt, his _shame_, was branded into the skin of his bloody hands –

"My goodness, Severus – is that _blood?"_

Dumbledore rose sharply at Molly Weasley's exclamation. Severus could only look at his hands, feeling them _crawl_ with filth – with the filth of the Dark curses he'd used – he'd nearly gone too far, fearing he hadn't gone far enough –

"What _is it_, Severus?" The old man's tired, anxious eyes met those of his twitching spy, who blinked, and said, blankly, six words that transformed the meeting.

"He's alive – Potter is alive…"

The room _exploded_ with noise, even as Dumbledore's fierce blue eyes scanned the black ones before him, understanding.

Knowing what he'd done – or had to do.

Severus curled his hands into fists, ignoring the shouting around him, impatient calls from Order members who desperately wanted to know _how he was_.

"He is in bad shape, Headmaster," Severus begun, having to shout to make himself heard. The room quieted rapidly as he continued, explaining how he'd found out. "Lucius Malfoy took me – they brought him out, after finishing with young Crabwell. He's dead, by the way." The words came out far more dispassionately than usual, a small signal that Severus knew the Headmaster would read, would notice. He took the chair offered to him, shakily sitting down.

"He was – grievously hurt, in – in a number of ways…" Snape trailed off, his face paling even more as the bloody, near-corpse seemed to loom before him again, nearly driving him, once again, to _sob_ –

"_What_ ways?" someone demanded sharply, breaking his now-erratic breathing pattern. Snape looked – it was that – that _fool_ of a Ronald Weasley. His bubbling anger blazed forth, his eyes glittering with malice.

"You utter _fool_ – is that important? Do you _crave_ to know how much your precious _friend_ was tortured? I'll tell you – perhaps it'll shut your gaping mouth – "

"_Severus!"_ Dumbledore's tone carried a harsh warning, but Severus was already satisfied – the little, bloody _fool_ was reddening, his stupid eyes filling with understanding as Granger poked him savagely, knowledge blossoming over her know-it-all features. For a moment, he could not continue, despite the Headmaster's impatience – those two _fools_, abandoning his son – making eyes at each other as he suffered, begged under those two _monsters_ – "Severus," Dumbledore prompted again, more gently. "Finish your tale – there will be no more interruptions." His steely gaze raked the full room, even as Severus continued his tale of woe, knowing that his master – his _true_ master – understood.

"He will not live long, Headmaster – we must act, and act _now_," Snape said the words firmly, switching his dark gaze, intent with worry and shame, onto Dumbledore, who rose again, pacing the small space around his armchair – rather less soft and comfortable than usual – as he tugged at his long beard.

"Do you know where…?" he began, turning his blue gaze back on Severus, although he already knew the answer.

Snape shook his head. "Lucius pre-linked his fireplace to the forest lair of the Dark Lord – he called nothing into the flames. The only thing we can be certain of is that it is his lair, and it is within the forest. It could be anywhere in England or Scotland, for all we know – "

"So you won't rescue him, then? Building up your excuses, aren't you?" Ron Weasley glared at him, his face a study of red misery. Snape scowled, shame and anger mixing into his deadly gaze as he started to rise, shakily, from his seat.

"_How DARE you _– "

"Be _silent_, Mr. Weasley, or you will depart this room," the stern tone, filled with chastened anger, came from nearby – McGonagall, he could see. "You and Miss Granger know your presence here is tenuous at best – if you do not _behave_, we will _put you out!"_ She hissed the last two words at her blanched students, who nodded fearfully. "Do sit down, Severus – pay no mind to the foolish insinuations of Mr. Weasley. The most important thing, is – "

"Potter, Minerva – _I know_." Severus faced Dumbledore again. "The lair is warded, with almost _everything_, too – Anti-Apparation and Anti-Disapparition, and the like. The only hope for Mr. Potter is escaping by Portkey, to be honest – "

"Then it is settled," the Headmaster replied, almost immediately, sinking back into his chair. "Severus – can you risk returning?" At the nod of his spy, he continued. "Go, then – and when you go, take this," it appeared to be one of the new Order medallions that Dumbledore dangled before him. He took it quickly, feeling the cold metal warm a little at his touch. " – you will give it to Harry, as soon as you can, and tell him how to activate it." Dumbledore paused, blue eyes boring into Severus' still-pale face. "I trust you can do this without arousing suspicion…?"

Severus nodded jerkily, unable to speak.

He didn't really know he could, to tell the truth – could bear to see Harry, his _son_, bleeding his life away in one of those dank cells, and not activate the bloody thing himself.

Severus bowed his head, letting the sounds of the Order meeting flow around him, as they discussed the repairs in Hogsmeade and the heavy security measures that would soon take hold at both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade once the repairs were complete, and the new term was begun.

He'd _have_ to do it. For his son.

* * *

Severus Snape wiped at his brow, almost convulsively. This was much worse – so much worse –

_He just _lies_ there – _bleeding_…_

"_Potter!"_ Severus whispered hoarsely, putting up the strongest, most subtle silencing ward he could manage. His heart clenched to see that battered skeleton of a boy curl up tightly into a ball – obviously to protect himself –

Snape knelt abruptly by his weak, bleeding son, whipping out the special restorative potion he'd made for the occasion fast enough to surprise himself. He reached out for his son, tenderly – he could do nothing else – "Potter – drink this – "

"Don't hurt me – I'll do it – I'll drink…" the boy turned shakily, blindly, accepting the cold vial Snape pressed to his cracked, bloody lips, willing his fingers to _still_ – he'd spill the potions on Harry, and where would he _be_ –

"Stop rambling!" Snape could feel the hysteria rushing into him, filling his body with an almost weightless madness – he couldn't pay _attention_, not with his son speaking like that, in that broken –

_Get a _hold_ of yourself!_

Snape, silently banishing the emptied vial, grasped Harry's thin shoulders. He needed to check –

"Don't touch me – " his son began to wriggle weakly, pathetically, his skeletal frame shaking with fright.

"_Potter_ – be _still_ – "

"_Don't touch me!"_ The boy repeated his weak mantra again and again, struggling violently as his cries became louder and louder.

For the first time in sixteen years, Severus Snape felt an incredible urge to weep.

"It's me – _please_, Harry – calm down – " Harry struggled harder, not seeming to hear.

"_Don't_ – "

"Harry, _please_ – listen to me – "

The struggles finally paused for a moment, then continued. Snape swore brokenly, retrieving the medallion. He had no _time_ –

Harry began to grunt in pain, his struggles becoming even more violent, as the cool metal touched his skin. The sounds were filled with terror – dread –

"_Petrificus totalus!"_ Severus muttered. There was nothing else – Harry began, abruptly, to cry, tears making grimy tracks down his drawn face, squeezing his father's heart in the grip of some awful vise. Severus forced himself to ignore it, angry tears stinging his eyes as he ran his hands over Harry's thin body, checking to see if there was anything else he could heal. There was.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath – to stop dwelling on the _who_ and continue with his all-too-important task, Severus opened his grey case, bringing forth the strongest Energising Potion he could lay hands on.

"Drink – please – " he begged, not quite able to let go of his son, who drank uncaringly, as if he had nothing to lose. "Harry, here…" Snape bound the Order medallion to the thin, dirty neck with magical string, which would not break or fray, and would not conduct magic to Harry's already raw skin. "…_that_ is an Order medallion keyed to you – yours was – it was removed in the attack." Snape removed the Body Bind – he needed to hold his shivering son –

He did, tightly enclosing the frail, bloody form in his arms, lifting him up to face him, trying to force open his eyes. This would be the hardest thing he would ever do.

"Listen to me, Harry – the next time Voldemort tells you to – to beg, do it – try and fire off one of those confusion spells you practiced in my – my dungeon – " The painful, bittersweet memory knifed through Severus, making him want to take his son _now_, anywhere – but he couldn't – "I'll – I'll try to reach you and give you a portkey – it'll activate when you say the password "help"…Harry?" He lowered his eyes to Harry's dull, green set, _hoping_ it would work… "Can you say that?"

"Yes," his son got out, the very effort seeming to task him. Severus could not – would not – he tightened his arms around Harry, hoping, _praying_ that this would not be one of the last times – _Merlin, he should understand – just in – he _must_ understand – I must make him_ –

"Forgive me," Severus whispered hoarsely, " – there is no other way – Albus needs me – I could not – I was – I could not help – "

"Go."

The footsteps that had sped and confused Severus' actions were already drawing – there was no _time_ – it wasn't _fair_ – Severus scrambled to his feet, not without gripping his fragile boy one last time, spitting out the mildest pain curse he could remember, his heart falling, like a stone, at the sound of Harry's haunting, hoarse screams –

"Severus – having some fun, are we, with our _famous_ captive – " Lucius Malfoy.

_If I wasn't an Occlumens_…

"Indeed, Lucius." He wouldn't think, for a while, that was all. If he did, there would be no – no _way_ he would leave the clearing without gutting this _bastard_ – this scheming, sick _bastard_ who had had the guts to rape his _son_ – "Here for some…fun, yourself?" The gleam in the grey eyes spoke for itself, Lucius laughing at the comment.

"Novel way to put it, Severus – "

"No point, Lucius," Severus replied, hoping his tone was easy enough, as he glanced, negligently, disgustedly at Harry, pretending to dismiss him. "He won't be any good _now_ – just fed him something – ah – _interesting_…" Lucius hesitated for a moment, then nodded, filling Severus with bright, pulsing relief. He wouldn't leave this cell, with this _man_ still in it – he _wouldn't_ –

"I suppose you're right, Severus," Lucius said slowly, eyeing Harry greedily, grey eyes still shining malevolently. He turned gracefully for the door. "Never mind – I can have my…_fun_…this evening, I suppose…" Severus laughed with him, hating him with every fibre of his being.

_Someday_…

* * *

If it had been bad seeing his son in the cell, seeing him _now_ was ultimately worse. Severus fought every instinct in him that screamed that he should not _just stand there_, but go and save his son – his flesh and blood, who was writhing on the ground, from the pain of the Cruciatus curse, which had just left him moments earlier. Voldemort turned from him, bored, but satisfied, nodding to his eager followers, who drew nearer to the twitching body in the soil.

"Wonder what the Ministry would say now – if they could see their little _hero_, bleeding in the dust…" Lucius Malfoy drawled from nearby, his voice heightened with anticipation. "Wonder what they'd say if they could've seen you _begging_ last night," he continued, stepping closer, affecting a high, frightened tone. " 'Leave me alone – please – I don't want it – please…' "

The Death Eaters roared with laughter, Severus just managing to hoist up a cruel smile. Merlin – not now – not before his own _eyes_ – he could feel it – he _knew _Lucius would –

Lucius let off a severe Itching Hex, making Harry claw at himself desperately, rending his already filthy, bloody rags.

_No_. It just wasn't _fair_ –

"Look at him," Malfoy jeered, stepping even closer, hands starting to dart to his cloak buttons, "I bet he wants it _now_ – "

Severus could only watch, helpless with rage, as Lucius Malfoy's aristocratic, pale hands and limbs did unspeakable things to his son. He didn't dare – he could do nothing – the Dark Lord himself laughed behind him.

_What I would give to stop this_…Snape thought desperately, trying to avert his eyes from the horrible sight. _Harry – please – _beg_ – for your sake – for mine_ –

"I'll do it," came his son's weary, broken tone, piping clearly through the gathering. "I'll beg…" His limbs still twitched, Lucius' hex had lingered, through – through _it_ – and he'd just withdrawn, smiling viciously, _contentedly_, smoothing his blond hair away, the bastard –

"Beg, then, Potter – and do not waste my time," The Dark Lord continued to chuckle behind him. "Or," he continued, striking fear into Severus' – "perhaps you require – persuasion, yet – " A movement – behind him, and no – _Merlin_ – not Romulus Veron – he couldn't watch this – Dumbledore and his plans be _damned_ –

"_CREO SECA!"_ The shout, made strong by rage, echoed from behind the fat, useless figure of Veron, who had stepped in Snape's line of sight, and –

_Why is everyone _silent_ –_

"A _sword?"_ Lucius muttered behind him. But what –

"_Accio wand!"_ The eleven inches of holly had already begun to whistle its deadly way to the battered figure at the centre of the clearing, whom Severus could now see – "_Exvolvo venae!"_ Pandemonium erupted – _Merlin_, the screams –

Severus moved forward, into the fray, surreptitiously aiming shield spells at his son, watching in fascinated horror and astonishment as the fat man clawed at his mask and neck, bloody lines erupting all over his white shirt, until –

_Swish_ – the sword of – _what?_ – slashed his neck wide open. Severus stood stock still, as did Lucius beside him, at the sight of Romulus' choking, gurgling, _dying_ body before them, and at the burning green eyes of the bloody skeleton before them, as a terrible smile appeared on his face, even as he spun round, unleashing the same Blood-boiling curses he'd suffered that very evening with the ease of a trained fighter, the sword of – it could only be _Gryffindor_ – blazing an unearthly red in the dark of the dirty clearing. Severus and Lucius reacted as one, both of them sending off spells in the confusion.

_Stay, Harry! Let me reach him – _please_…_

But it was too late, and the flashes of spellfire around him were in vain, because Harry was no longer in the clearing, dodging and shielding like an Auror-in-training. Voldemort's fury at this was great, and Severus and Lucius bore the brunt of it – they had stood still too long, apparently –

But Severus' fury at himself was even greater.

* * *

He'd _failed_.

He shook his head as he came upon the doors of Grimmauld Place – they would skin him alive – he couldn't stop _shaking_ – getting down to the kitchen was harder than he'd thought – so many curses –

The whispering and shouting of many voices reached through to him, even through the door – of course, it was his son, all for his son –

His son, whom he could not _save_ –

"_The medallion!"_

"_He's alive – "_

"_No location – "_

_"Snape said he'd given it to him – "_

The slam of the door temporarily stilled the mad rush of words and bodies in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, but only for a moment.

_"Professor Snape!"_

"_Harry – "_

"_BE QUIET!"_ Snape roared hoarsely through the room, silencing the pale, frightened faces that confronted him. "He escaped – " The room exploded into words and hands reaching for him – "Wait – I could not reach him – they haven't found him – must tell – must tell Albus – must tell him – " The cries of dismay that filled the room shook the walls, Mrs. Weasley's wailing, the loudest of them all.

"_Oh my **god**_…"

Snape, exhausted and disheartened, could not speak even as more Order members pressed forward, demanding of him what _happened_, and _where was Harry_…The voices seemed to close in on him – he was so –

"_Severus!"_ Albus Dumbledore's stern tone penetrated through the babble of voices. He pushed through the frantic group surrounding Snape. "Tell us – tell us what happened – "

"He called a sword – out of thin air – struck Veron – it was _madness_ – I couldn't reach – couldn't reach – " Severus Snape began to gulp, hyperventilating in his frustration, drowning in the awful, bone-chilling waves of failure that flooded his slim frame. The whole room stilled in horror and dismay at the shaking, broken spy before them. "Albus – I gave him the medallion – I _did_ – "

"And you did well, Severus – "

"_NO!_" Snape's vehement denial cut through the deafening silence like a knife. "You – you don't understand – he's _gone_ – he – he – Potter – he wasn't – wasn't there…" Snape began to shake again, harder, beginning to sound incoherent. "Dark Lord – couldn't find – the Dark Lord – couldn't find – Potter – sent us – search the forest – the Hollow – "

"Calm yourself, Severus – you did your best…"

"_The Hollow_," Severus Snape repeated, even as a sleeping draught was pressed to his violently shaking lips, as hands forced him to a sitting position in one of the kitchen chairs, "Must search – Hollow – follow the – the medallion…"

And, as Severus Snape, Death Eater and Order spy, descended dizzyingly fast into the encroaching darkness, the last thing he heard was the voice of Dumbledore, as he examined the vibrating medallion on Snape's chest.

"Harry – _Stone Hollow_ – "

Unnoticed by Snape, the whole room, once again, went still.

* * *

_A/N: Here we are, again._

_Sorry I haven't updated earlier – I can only do so many late nights and sadly, this was the only one of them I could spare to really get my teeth into this chapter. Hope you're not teetering _too_ far on the edge – thankfully, tomorrow's an easy day at college – I can probably have the next chapter up by Saturday. _

_All I can say is, I _did_ warn you. Until the next chapter, which will be named _Chapter 12: The Nights Go Badly_. Ominous, huh? Tough. ;) Until then…_

* * *


	12. Chapter 12: The Night Goes Badly

_A/N: Okay, here we are. Usual disclaimer applies. Don't read this right now if you can't deal with a little wait - I had a hard time with this chapter, and am having a sorry time with the next one, so it'll probably be an hour or two between them. Sorry :(  
_

_In this chapter, we watch the Order betake themselves to Stone Hollow for the planned rescue, and watch as the night goes…badly…_

**Chapter 12: The Night Goes Badly**

Severus was woken from his dreamless, edgy slumber by the sharp pain lancing through his left forearm. His thoughts swirled round in his heavy, hurting head, as he tried to right himself on the mattress beneath him. The pain of the last few hours came back, pouring over him in hot, horrible waves, even as the murmurings from the room around him became audible –

"Right, Hestia – you'll go in Kingsley's group, then – " came the muffled, gruff voice of Alastor Moody, the dull _clunk-clunk_ seeming to pass by Severus' prone form.

He closed his eyes as many other Order members hurried past, knowing well that he shouldn't have been delaying the awful return –

"Severus," A warm, wrinkled hand descended on his burning arm.

_Dumbledore_.

Severus Snape reared up at the _thought_ of that name, all of his boiling, simmering anger at this whole _awful_ situation suddenly beginning to pour from him in the form of magic, making the bare mattress he lay on heat up, even as he ripped aside the blanket that had been covering him.

"Severus…" Blue eyes filled with sorrow and determination met his, infuriating Snape all the more.

"The Dark Lord _calls_, Headmaster – " He spat out the name like a curse, not caring who heard, trying to rid himself of the thought, the _possibility_ of having to hunt down his son – on the other side.

"Severus, _please_ – "

"_No!"_ Snape's cry echoed down the hall, halting Granger and the two Weasleys hanging pathetically onto her in their slow progress from the room. Ronald Weasley seemed, for a moment, about to make some remark, but a quick glance at Severus Snape's livid, pallid features, stretched with anger, made him shuffle his miserable feet and move on. _Quickly_.

Severus bared his teeth at the Granger girl, uncaring of Dumbledore's reproving look, of Ginny Weasley's reproachful, frightened one, of Hermione Granger's flinching guilt. _Let them feel it_, his heart raged within him, as he stalked back into the nearly empty drawing room, intending to retrieve his cloak and be gone. _Let their hearts be crushed – as my heart is – is being _–

Severus blanched in disgust, at his own pathetic snivelling. He felt too stretched, too thin, too wild with these unfamiliar emotions of despair and grief – guilt was familiar, an old friend, etched into the walls of his dungeon. This wild feeling of impending loss did not sit heavily in his chest – it moved savagely through his body, battering about his insides, making him want to howl with the sheer _unfairness_. He stooped, fetching up his cloak, slowly, making sure his valuable cases were still inside – still whole, not tampered with –

And at this horrible, stretching moment, feeling Dumbledore hovering in wait nearby, feeling eyes on him – it was _Lupin_ – Severus Snape came to face with the hidden contents of his heart, and the shock of it kept ravaging his system, even as he began to inventory his potions, despite the burning, the infernal burning –

_Possessiveness_. Second only to what he'd once felt for Lily Potter – that foolish, enticing, confused young woman, trapping him between her legs and in the intoxicating embrace of her arms, ruining his _revenge_ –

Smirking, foolish Harry Potter, stirring away at that stupid, stupid potion, beaming as if he truly _cared_.

Severus snapped the two cases shut, re-shrinking them and tucking them away within his voluminous, stained Death Eater cloak, before he put it on.

The unfairness threatened to strangle him, then and there. He turned on the old man beside him, because he could.

"Severus – "

"Don't apologise – you old – you – don't you _dare_ speak, not now, not when you didn't _see_ him lying there like a dead _fish_, _screaming_ at me – you don't have the _right_, Dumbledore – "

"I ask you – " Dumbledore wearily tried to cut in, but Snape was having none of it, stepping forward, fists clenching spasmodically.

"You'd better bring him _back_," the furious spy snarled, ignoring the exclamation that came from behind him, stepping even closer toward his old master. "I won't _vouch_ for my actions if you don't – if he is _dead_, and you bring him to me…" Severus Snape turned away, hoping angrily that the vise crushing his own heart was performing a similar action on Dumbledore's.

The old _bastard_, the manipulating old _coot_ – he _deserved_ to have his heart feel like it was being wrenched from his body –

"I understand, Severus."

"You _don't_ – you've never lacked for anything, have you? _I have_ – and if I do, after this night, pray – _pray_ you do not see me again, Headmaster."

As Severus strode out of the room, an offensive, shabby arm reached out to block him from leaving. He turned on its owner, snarling –

"Tell me – you didn't _say_ how he was…" Lupin's hoarse voice faltered as he cleared his throat. "_Tell_ me – "

"You – you stupid _bastard_ – " Severus began, wanting to – Merlin, he might as well tell him – the utter _fool_ wouldn't let him _go_ – he _deserved_ this knowledge, for his folly – "_FINE! _He could barely stand. He _poured_ with blood. He was incoherent, weak, _skeletal_ – _shall I go on?"_ He was almost shouting at Lupin now. "You _fools_ – _all of you!_ Must I relive what I saw? _Take my place_, Lupin – if you only saw – do you _know_ – I saw him used – _raped_ – by Lucius Malfoy – " bitter satisfaction soared within his breast as he saw his old adversary's drawn face blanch even further, " – _with my own eyes!_ I'll _give_ you the memories – you can _have_ them, you utter _fool_ – "

Severus tore his arm from Lupin's, feeling unsteady on his feet. He half-staggered, half-ran from the house, past Nymphadora Tonks' foolish, wide eyes, past the crippling sorrow on his foolish master's face, past the muttering words of the portrait.

He stood in the clear, cold night, for a minute, to clear his mind, promising himself.

He still had that Portkey, after all – if things went – _badly_ – well, he'd use it.

Severus fingered the unobtrusive feather quill, baring his teeth at the quiet, unsuspecting houses around him.

Harry wouldn't be _within_ striking distance of Dumbledore from then on, if he could help it. Severus put away the quill, and Apparated, touching his wand to the hated Mark on his arm.

It was time.

* * *

I only manage to keep standing, keep walking, by sheer dint of will, as Severus staggers madly from the house. 

I clench my fists – it is almost too hard to keep from following him, from somehow Apparating with him – somehow reaching Lucius Malfoy and shredding his smug face –

I unclench my fists. It's a pity that fat bastard Veron is definitely dead – what I wouldn't _give_ to have seen that – or _done_ that – the anger in me reaches out to my consciousness, curbed as it is by the absence of moonlight. If there was only a _way_ to transform at will – stupid curse, not being there when you need it, when you need to rip Lucius Malfoy's throat out with your teeth –

Or, preferably, _Peter_. Shredding Peter's poor excuse for a face would be almost as satisfactory – seeing as he's the bastard that got Harry here in the first place.

"Remus? Where are you?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice booms from nearby. He stalks over to me, shepherding me into another of those dank little rooms Harry and I –

_Harry._

"Are you _listening_, Remus?" Kingsley demanded, glaring at me from under his thick brows. "We don't have _time_ for daydreaming, understand – "

"I'll be _fine_," I grind out, unable to control the feral anger multiplying in my veins, easily breaking loose from its tight control at the mere thought of – of _Harry_ – being – _raped_ – "I'll be fine, Kingsley. Just get on with it, all right?" He shoots me a worried look, but gets around to the explanation, motioning me, Minerva, Molly, Arthur, Hestia, Dung, and Bill and Charlie closer.

"Now, Group One, headed by Mad-Eye, is accompanying Dumbledore to the Ministry for that meeting of his with Minister Orwell. As that shouldn't take long, they will meet us in the village near Stone Hollow, in Martin Cragg's house, if all goes well. If it doesn't, they'll scry us and join us, wherever we are. Now, _listen_," Kingsley growled, his eyes shining with wary anticipation, "Stone Hollow is _very_ out of the way – deep in Waring Wood, and nigh impossible to find, if you don't have any idea where you're going. So we'll stick to simple, untraceable Four-Point Spells and low-energy scrying of Harry's medallion, and try and get there as quickly as possible. Our effort tonight is _not_ going towards discovering Voldemort's forest holding – which is _definitely_ at least within a mile's radius of Stone Hollow – but to _rescuing Harry._ Do I make myself clear?"

Everyone nods fervently, mine being the most fervent. I finger my wand nervously as we file out of the room, Disillusioning ourselves one by one. I stay visible, as I'm the designated wizard to lead the party out of the house without arousing suspicion from watching eyes, with Tonks by my side, pretending to stay at 'home' without me. She sticks close, gripping me by the arms, far tighter than she would normally, a strange, wild look on her face.

"Tonks – I have to _go_ – "

"No you _don't_ – you won't _be_ careful, will you – only throw your life away like the garbage you think it is, as if I'm not going to be in the same place, watching you _die_ – " her voice is harsh, drilling into me, full of awful despair.

"I'll waste my life _any way I like!"_ I grind back, worry and fear and despair and the need to _kill_ tearing at my insides. I jerk my hand from her strong grip, ignoring the wrenching of my heart that accompanies it. Nymphadora is breathing harshly, angry tears only just under the surface –

"Why won't you _listen_ – "

"I'll be _fine_, Tonks – I told you – just get back in the house, all right?" I turn away, walking quickly, following the nearly silent footsteps that accompany me, ignoring the new guilt that is swamping me. I _promised_, didn't I – I promised I wouldn't do this, wouldn't push her away, wouldn't refuse to see her hurt like James refused to see Lily's, but _Merlin_, it doesn't matter – with Harry gone, everything seems to reduce drastically in importance. His death tonight will tear me apart – tear everything to shreds –

God – we're doomed, aren't we?

I just thought of his death as a certainty.

I quicken my pace, dread settling heavily on my raging heart. We _are_ doomed.

* * *

My hair turns a piercing black, not unlike my real hair, I am so angry. 

_You bloody bastard_, I rage at his disappearing, shabby back. _You think I don't _care_? You think I don't want to _kill_ that Malfoy bastard just as much as you?_

Feeling a snarl rise onto my face, which is rapidly getting uglier, I whip back into the house, slamming the door, bile rising up in my throat.

They all think I'm weak – too young to hear, too young to kill –

Even Remus, stupid bloody Gryffindor sod, going fiercely out to his death – I can _feel_ it, this mission could easily turn into a suicide one – the potential is there, with us not knowing if You-Know-Who has already gotten his slimy hands back on Harry – if Harry is already _dead_, from his wounds –

_God!_

I slump against the wall of the hall, trying to stifle my loud sobs. I heard – I heard Snape, shouting at my foolish werewolf, and even at _Dumbledore_, just before he left, a puzzlingly angry whirl of black robes. I weep for Harry – this war of ours, this foolish war of adults, seems to tear every single thing from him, and usually by force.

That he was _raped_ –

I curl my wand hand into a fist around the ten inches of birch in my robe pocket, my lips curling into a ferocious smile. Remus can have that traitor, Peter – Malfoy is _mine_. I stalk into the drawing room, ignoring the concerned, irritated look from Moody, who is gathering up some sort of bundle of paper, yanking my Auror cloak from the back of the chair it had been draped on during the meeting.

_Malfoy will _pay, I mutter to myself. Harry's first – first time – was supposed to be with _Ginny_, for crying out bloody loud – with a bloody girl, _any_ bloody girl, or boy, for that matter. How will he stand to have anyone touch him, after this – if we get him out alive? That kind of torture warps you – reshapes you…I shake my head, leaving the room, coming face to face with an even more irritated Moody, who beckons towards the room across from us.

"Right – Tonks, hurry the bloody hell up, we're about to leave – " I follow him into the room, fleetingly noting the faces in it – Dumbledore's worried, weary countenance; the pale, determined faces of the Pritchards; Emmeline's sad, strained look; Eliphas Doge's angry, wrinkled visage.

"Keep your eye in, Mad-Eye," I snap back, shaking back my dark hair, shortening it as much as I can, while clustering around the old comb Dumbledore has just produced from within his subdued navy robes.

"Reconcile…" The password fades away as the hooking sensation of the portkey seizes us all.

We land in chaos.

The first thing we all think to do is raise shields – the Atrium is a bloody, dank mess, _zinging_ and lighting with flying spells that thrum hungrily at our shields. Moody's good eye widens – good, he's in Auror mode, I can always see it happening on his face –

And so am I.

"Release – _one – two – _THREE!"

We all drop our joined shields simultaneously, firing sprays of curses straight ahead, grouping together in a tight knot of angry bodies, tight around the form of Dumbledore, who continues to grimly shield and deflect, shield and deflect. The power of his shields wash over us like stinging, powerful rain, making us nearly giddy with the feeling of invincibility.

"_To the Minister!"_ Dumbledore urges, and we all comply, breaking and dividing at will, tearing through the massed Death Eaters that block our way, finally reaching the lift, which closes with a huge _slam_, and then –

"Headmaster Dumbledore – it is a pleasure indeed – "

Pandemonium rips through us all, drowning out the rest of those cultured words in the haze and smash of spellfire. Anger seems to coat me, soak through my very bones – it is a snarling, spitting hag that attacks Lucius Malfoy, behind me, wand burning with fire, _entirely_ restricted curse on the tip of my tongue –

"_Seize her!"_

My fury knows no bounds – I hit out like a missile, ignoring the second _clang_ behind me, the roars of Mad-Eye, the cries of the rest of my group – _they won't take me_ –

And suddenly, a Portkey – two sets of hands still hold on, I can't _believe_ –

" – _you BASTARDS_ _– !"_

"_Stupefy_."

And I fall, hitting the ground, my consciousness draining from me…

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

I wake to pain –

"She's awake, Avery – you handle her, I've got to get back," a disembodied voice comes, from above me, as the pain stops coursing through my limbs. "The half-blood bitch kicked me in the teeth – _Crucio_ – "

_Oh GOD –_

"…make sure she feels it, Avery…!" The voice calls out, merrily, going farther away. I shiver – I can't feel _anything_ – that curse –

"Now, here we are…_Tonks_, isn't it? Andromeda's little by-blow, eh?" Hands squeeze – oh Merlin – "Nice body, too…wouldn't want to _lose_ that, would you?" I can hear the smoke-clang of something nearby.

_A brand_, my brain tells me. _That's the only thing he_ –

"You'll be thinking you'll be able to hide it, won't you?" Avery chortled. I grit my teeth – if I could only – Merlin, those ropes are so tight – "Well, little _Tonks_, I'm afraid not…" his disgusting breath draws closer to my ear. "…because you won't be _leaving_ this place, alive – unless someone else has a – a _claim_ on your further services…" He reaches downwards…

_They trained me well_, I scream within. _I'll kill you – stupid bastard –_

But he is already unbinding me, spelling away my clothes, _touching_ me, squeezing my breasts so hard they hurt, _laughing_ –

_Accidental magic_, I growl, within. Once he separates my legs –

_Now_ –

Power seems to explode from me, made strong by the force of my hatred, turning his laughs into howls, shredding painfully through my ropes. I am weak, but I know I have strength enough for a little wandless magic –

"_Accio_ wand!" I say, softly, my throat rasping – god, that curse – Avery snarls as it reaches me, it feels heavy, too heavy, but I don't care, I'll do _anything_ to –

"Going to escape, are you, little Mudblood? You won't get away – too weak – " He lunges at me, but I've already decided, I've got _nothing_ to lose now, not when _Harry_ –

"_Decedo roburis!"_ I command, my voice cracking – I've _got_ to put my strength into this – Merlin, let it work –

Avery screams. I pant with anticipation.

_Yes!_ Strength pours into my limbs like a flood – I bare my teeth – _wasn't expecting a Draining Curse, was he_ – and stand tall, not feeling the harsh wind that blows into the room – barn – I don't know –

_Lucius_.

He steps in, looking shaking, peaky –

I _know_ it's wrong – _the curse is only _restricted_, though – he won't be expecting it either_…

And my mind is made up.

"_Decedo roburis!"_ I shriek again – his eyes widen in shock, his wand coming up to block – his Wall Charm fizzles desperately, as my Draining curse reaches through, bringing a feral smile to my lips – _thank Merlin_ _I chose this one_ –

"_Annelli viris!"_ He shouts back, colour rushing into that pale, handsome face as he wilts. I laugh this time – his curse won't reach me in time, his Wall Charm is already collapsed –

Strong fingers grasp me at the throat, _squeezing_ – I struggle for air – _need to hold on_ – they're weakening –

I drop to the floor, almost at the same time as Malfoy does, spent from the draining effects of both _my_ curse and the _Annelli_. I get up immediately, prowling towards him, spelling ropes – no, _chains_ – onto him immediately, taking his horrid cloak – can't go naked, can I – revelling in the situation before me.

But, before I can say or do anything else – and I _do_ want to – a frantic shout comes from without. I shift to Lucius Malfoy's disgusting frame, almost without thinking, casting an Obscurus charm on him, so that –

A frantic, shaking Death Eater breaks in, staring at my unmasked face in surprise.

"Lu – Lucius – "

"The Mudblood overpowered Avery," I snap at him, kicking the 'Mudblood' hard in the genitals. Good thing I spelled him silent, as well. "I got here just in time – what do you _want_?" The Death Eater gulped, but spoke. Hoarsely.

"The Master wants her before him – _now_ – "

I shrug, fear hammering at my heart. God, he'll see through me in a minute – but the Death Eater is standing, shivering in the doorway, watching me sneer at Avery as I shed some of the bindings on the 'Mudblood', silently shooting a few choice charms at Malfoy and Avery while the shaking man looks nervously behind him, out at the shouts coming clearly through the door, the _cracks_ of Apparation –

"Let's go." I levitate Malfoy before me, doing my level best to march like he does, the great poofy bastard, trying to ignore the bleeding men and women appearing around me. I've done what I can – I have to play along from here, and hope they'll not suspect I'm –

"…t-there are w-w-wards, my Lord," I can hear – _Snape_ –

"Silence!" The monstrous figure at the centre of the circle turns this ay and that, looking – "Lucius – the girl – "

I step forward, levitating Lucius Malfoy into the clearing as roughly as I can, _hoping_ –

"S-stone hollow…" Lucius mutters dementedly, all the while. "S-stone hollow…"

"She will say nothing else, My Lord," I offer cautiously, holding myself as humbly as possible. Surely he will –

"_Crucio!_ I heard her myself, you fool…"

I cannot – believe – I can – _hear_ – through the pain –

"Leave the mudblood bitch – there is no time," Voldemort orders, striding forth, parting the circle of Death Eaters like water. I can't believe I can still _see_ – I stand, reaching blindly for Lucius Malfoy, meaning to plant a timed Portkey, so that – "_Leave her, Lucius! Crucio!"_

I scream – _it hurts…so much_…

I can barely stand – my brain thuds in my skull, my nerves are _raw_ with pain – _Merlin_ – I hurry forward, no matter how much I want to stay with that bastard, conveniently tied up as he is – I force myself forward, no matter how much my limbs shake, betraying me – Severus Snape is hanging back, a wild look in his black eyes, eyes that promise _murder_, but he turns from me –

"Ah – Stone Hollow – " Voldemort's – Merlin – _happy_ tone reaches us all. My brain is dulled, I can barely decipher what they're saying – Voldemort keeps going on about _wards_ – I am at the fringe of things – I reach blindly forward, into the clearing, feeling magic wash over me – there _are_ wards – oh, _Harry_ – I pull my hand back, hoping no one saw –

Suddenly, we are moving forward, into the clearing, Voldemort ordering us into position, laughing triumphantly even as an Impediment Ward curtails the rest of them, even _me_ – only Severus seems to fall oddly – good old Harry – he surges forward, to the barn –

_Crack – crack – crack – crack – crack – crack –_

Apparation – the _Order_ –

I take my chances, morphing back to myself, under the voluminous robe and cloak, and fire off three Stunners, power draining from me with each one – they all hit, confusing the Death Eaters, I can practically _taste_ their surprise – "That came from _behind_ – "

"_Stupefy!"_ voices roar, ahead, and the battle has begun. I stay low, keeping my sights on that rickety barn nearby – not safe to join the other side in these robes, as keyed up as they are – I can duck in and transfigure –

_An opening, Tonks, take it –_

I dart around the strange, confusing spectre of Severus – he's duelling _Remus_, of all people – forcing myself to sneak into the barn, out of range of spellfire, crushing away my objections, my fear that Severus is really not –

_Harry!_

He's so _thin_ – his eyes glow oddly, scanning my face in confusion even as he raises his bloody wand –

"_Rudentis ligo_," he intones, hollowly. I succumb to the ropes, dropping to my knees, my hood clearing my sodden head – I think someone got me with something –

"_Tonks?"_ I change my hair to pink – Merlin, that actually _hurts_, someone _did_ get me there – the ropes fall from me, easily –

Harry stumbles towards me, his breath coming hoarsely, rattling through his chest as he clumps forward, embracing me. He stinks of blood and sweat and – and – I hug him back, fiercely, tears pouring from deep within – I should have _killed_ that bastard –

"Tonks – what – you're _here_ – " Harry whispers brokenly, incoherent – just like Severus said – oh _God_. "Ow – you're – " I let him go hastily, holding him at arms length – he's so _filthy_ –

"I'm here," I say lowly, fiercely hugging him again. But my hug is not so fierce – stars are dancing behind my eyes – and I am falling dimly, in Harry's arms, not really hearing his moans of dismay…

* * *

We were all keyed up – that's how I see it. I duck the branches snapping at my cloak – mutter a silencing spell at my body, motioning at whoever's nearby to do the same – keep going, fucking _fuck_ my leg's playing up again. 

"_Carpo dolor_ – " I mumble, rubbing irritably at where my stump meets the wooden leg. I'm fast on it – I need to be, don't I – but it plays up at the _worst_ times.

My heart sinks even further, as we draw close to the outskirts of the clearing around the valley that is Stone Hollow. Tonks was taken so quickly – stupid girl, going for that Malfoy bastard on her own. They were _waiting_ for us, damnit – shoved us from the lift with spells, slamming the gates as they Portkeyed her away. I growl to myself, coming to a stop just before the clearing.

Someone _knew_, as always. Sometimes it's bloody annoying being on this side – being supposed to _trust_ people when you really should be watching your backside, like Voldemort certainly is.

"Apparate forward on signal…" I say silently to the person next to me. He steps forward, nodding, twisting to pass the message on to the rest of the group huddled behind me.

It is Lupin, and my heart sinks further. Had to be _him_, didn't it – he can't be thinking clearly, not now, not while Tonks is somewhere nearby. I shake my head regretfully, remembering the argument we left behind at Cragg's. It had to be done, of course – couldn't leave him there, crying away…

I sigh to myself, wand raised, lighting.

I wish Dumbledore was with us – bloody craven _Minister_ Orwell, keeping him –

– the rushing vacuum envelopes me as we all Apparate forward – well within any good wizard's repertoire, that – and spellfire erupts.

From the _other side_, _at_ the other side, too. I smile nastily to myself as I raise my wand – I wonder who _else_ isn't happy with that demented snake bastard – can't have been Snape, Voldemort's eye is always on him, what with the 'spying' he's supposed to be doing.

"_Stupefy!"_

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o_  
_

I make for the barn with all my might, seeing a staggering, black-robed figure slip in there. They may know something we do not – Harry may be in there –

I slip in, too, after re-silencing my blasted leg. Wouldn't hurt – just in case it wore off, during the –

"_Tonks_ – "

Great Merlin, it's him. Bleeding like a stuck pig – a pile of rags lies nearby, reddened with the same blood –

The hooded, black figure is on its knees, the ropes binding it falling away, pink hair matted with blood – it _is_ Tonks –

She mumbles something at the staggering boy in her arms, and begins to slump to the floor. I move forward quickly, coming to a dead halt as the boy's wand trains on me.

"Ask your question, Harry," I order, at the surprised look on his face, a grin twisting painfully onto my face – I cannot help it, really, with him pointing that sodding thing at me, looking like a feather would give him a concussion. To his credit, he straightens, a weak smile crossing his face as he says:

"What did I help you with, summer last year, in the kitchen at Privet Drive?"

"You helped me rinse off my magical eye, Potter – needs a bit of _that_ now, but it's hardly the time, is it?" Harry's smile widens, and he lowers his arm, breathing hard. I stomp forward to – yep, it's definitely Tonks, lying there at Harry's feet, mouth open, blood dribbling down her pale face. I shift her roughly over to the pile of rags – she's got a bit of a concussion, from the amount of blood in her hair, but it doesn't look serious. Harry sinks to a sitting position across from me, the movement almost boneless – unnerving, that – and stares, rather blankly, at the floor, as I whisper a crude healing charm at the Tonks' head.

"Took you a while, didn't it." The way he speaks – but it's only fair, at this point – he looks half _dead_. I shrug, too jumpy to let the slight hardness in his rasping tone affect me.

"We had problems, Potter," I reply, gruffly, shaking Tonks awake. Luck isn't on our side tonight – I've a feeling we'll be needing all the magical energy we've got, to be honest. "The Ministry was being attacked at exactly the same time Dumbledore had an urgent meeting with the Minister. We Apparated into _chaos_, spells flying everywhere – the Headmaster had to stay behind. Couldn't leave that bloody Orwell, snivelling on about where were his _guards_ and so on…there you are, Tonks – how the bloody hell did you – "

A weak smile blossoms on her face as she speaks, weakly drawing breath.

"…_knew_ someone got me…" she coughs. "Managed to hit Avery with a Draining Curse, Mad-Eye – _and_ Malfoy, when he came in…" The smile turns nasty. "A glamour and a Babbling Curse later, and _voila_ – he's me, babbling on about the location of poor old Harry." Seeing my frown, she continues quickly. "Didn't have _time_ to use the Portkey, or try Apparating – someone came in, and the place I was held was _crawling_ with Death Eaters…I just played along, pretended to _be_ the stuck-up bastard, and that."

"Well done, then – I wondered who that was, firing Stunners at their own people." She grins weakly, trying to sit up. I look round to see Harry staring at us both, a wistful look on his face.

"You've got – you've got a Portkey out of here…?" he faltered. I curse myself – here we are, nattering on in the midst of a bloody _battle_ –

_Boom._

The barn wall opposite us flies apart, covering the three of us in splinters and stinking dust. A _presence_ steps in, slowly.

I move to shield Harry, as fast as I can, bones aching with the force of that blast – he's crumpled to the ground now, won't be any use against _him_ –

Because I know. I know it's Voldemort standing in what's left of that rotten wooden wall, and as red, merciless eyes seek me out, I know I am facing my death.

"_Seco!"_ Tonks shrieks, from beside me – that wonderful _girl_ – she catches him off guard, just a bit, with that bright, whistling spell, so I can hurl my own powerful Stunner at him. I stand tall, firing at him in tandem with Tonks, who has somehow gotten to her feet.

He laughs coldly as we face him, deflecting our attacks easily, red eyes intent on the bloody figure I do not _dare_ to look at – he's amazingly fast –

...certainly didn't see _that_ coming –

I fall heavily, pain shivering over my bleeding body, and he turns on a shrinking Tonks, firing off a luminous yellow beam of light. It could be anything, _anything_ – duck, you poor fool –

Tonks screams – god-awful – what _curse_ was that –

"Enough." Harry has risen behind me, even as Tonks shrivels to the earth, writhing in the yellow light. He doesn't say anything more, just mouths off a spell I _know_ is restricted, darting over to the rags, withdrawing – bloody _hell_, he never told us –

The Sword of _Gryffindor_ – I thought – Snape said something about it, but I didn't –

It glows redly, gleaming in Harry's bloody hands as he deflects, deflects, deflects. I stagger to my feet to join him, only to be knocked down by a stray, awful slashing spell. Voldemort is angry now – none of that cold confidence – Harry doesn't stay still, moving from place to place, a strange hissing seeming to accompany his –

The yellow beam of light emerges from Voldemort's wand, and suddenly Harry is screaming too, the blade of Gryffindor glowing a sick yellow now, and it's madness, _madness_ – it goes on, and on, and _on_ –

The blade falls, and Harry follows, streaming with blood.

I rise, foolishly – there's nothing for it, my stump is squishing in the wooden leg, and I know I can't _touch_ this laughing monster, but I need to try, for _Harry_ –

The yellow beam of light comes at me, and all I know is _pain_…

…and darkness.

* * *

_A/N: You're not really reading this note, are you? I'm writing the last chapter as we speak, wrestling with it, more like, so it'll be up in one hour or so. On we go._

_

* * *

_


	13. Chapter 13: There Is No Resolution

_A/N: Usual disclaimer applies. I apologise if this is a little rushed, guys. But there you have it – the final chapter of Part the First._

**Chapter 13: There Is No Resolution**

I feel dead, now.

I thought I did, after Lily and James. After Sirius – and after Sirius, again. Perhaps it was my fault, for thinking of him as I did, that night – but really –

I'm not sure I want to think of that, now.

I think I'm in the kitchen – yes, I am. Tonks isn't dead, thank Merlin – only nearing it, in bloody _fucking_ St. Mungo's, looking all pale and pinched and bloody _dying_.

Everyone I love seems to _die_. I look down at the cup of tea I'm holding, swirling it aimlessly, savouring the thought of breaking it to pieces.

_No, Remus_, I warn myself, stupidly, setting it down on the table, my hands going to grip my knees, hard. If I do that, it won't be enough, and I'll just break everything in the kitchen, everything in the bloody house.

I'd really like to burn this house to the ground, at times. All the time, now. I used to wish that, before Harry came in summer, to help me paint it and pretend it was not really the house where Sirius lived. And now, who's to stop me from burning it?

Dumbledore?

Hot, fresh anger inundates me, as usual. I _know_ he wasn't able to leave the spineless little bugger of a Minister. I _know_. _I know!_

But I still want to put my hands around his neck and _squeeze_. Just like Snape's long, smudged fingers looked like they wanted to do, three days ago. I pick up the cup of tea again, forcing some down. I fought with him, you know, in Stone Hollow, before that rotten pile of wood we called a barn, not realising that Harry was _there_, nearby, bleeding, waiting –

Guilt strangles at me, now. I wrestle with it – I've had experience. Plenty.

Too fucking _much_.

I give in, and throw the cup into the sink, so it shatters.

Then – _good old Remus_ – I get up, and _Scourgify_ the splashed, still-warm tea, and repair the cup.

That's me.

Left to myself, I would probably have tidied up Harry's broken, still-twitching corpse, as well. Made it all clean. Refused to let it go, perhaps, at the end, but still. I could have done that.

I didn't.

Dumbledore looked just so _broken_, then, so _angry_ – I thought he'd just check – hold – like I wanted to do – but next thing, he was staring at me, the expression in his hard eyes slightly unhinged, muttering something about really _making sure_, and then he was off. _Gone_.

I kick the chair I was sitting in, not really caring to know how I got out of it in the first place. Dumbledore came back, five hours later, steeped in blood, looking old and feeble, carrying Harry's cleaned, sewed, preserved _body_.

Looking perfectly strangle-worthy. I stood up and left the meeting, then – _I_ was supposed to have that task.

I know I'm not entirely rational, but would _you_ be?

Snape certainly isn't. I don't know _what_ Dumbledore told him, fed him, to bring him back, but it took all of four days for him to return. He sat next to me earlier today, stiffly, glaring at the Headmaster, speaking in clipped, short tones, biting the head off every Weasley that tried to ask, none too politely, where the _hell_ he'd been.

And there were many, too. He and Molly were having a rousing row by the end of _that_ meeting. Dumbledore could barely separate them. I watched, slightly, dazedly, perplexed. Severus seemed to positively _glow_ with rage as Molly berated him for not finding Harry fast enough. Frightening, even to me, surly as I was, then.

You see, it's the full moon tonight.

And, it is the funeral tonight.

The _funerals_, I should say. Two Order members died that night – Hestia Jones and Mundungus Fletcher. Two others, I believe, are dying – Moody, mottled with even more bruises and cuts than before, frightening even in his coma – and Tonks.

I really, really wish I could somehow escape, tonight – to Malfoy Manor.

It would be the utmost irresponsibility, in theory, but in practice…the thought warms my already heated blood.

Great Merlin, someone's coming in – two someones – does anyone _know_ I don't _want_ to be _with_ anyone –

"Oh, Remus…"

The voice of Hermione Granger only grates on my nerves, coming from behind me. I try to breathe in and out, my grip on the counter tightening, just hoping she'll keep her mouth _shut_ –

"I'm so sorry – I know – how – how _hard_ – "

"Spare me and shut up, Hermione." My voice speaks almost of its own accord. My conscience stabs me, but grief and anger numb the blow.

_This fool_, the wolf growls, in my ear, _was not a good friend to your cub._

I heartily agree, turning on her. Ginny is beside her, looking frightened and pale, pulling at the arm of a shocked Hermione. I agree, with my unhappy conscience, to try to confine myself to a hearty glare – before stomping away to the new room I'm staying in – I _can't_ sleep in that _bed_, where Tonks and I –

"But – _why_ – "

"_Because_ you hurt him. I don't _care_ what you thought you were doing, or what you're thinking now. Stay away from me." I head for the door, pushing past the astounded girls, not caring. If only I could –

"But _I didn't mean_ – "

"I _told_ you," I snarl, turning on her again, shocking her and Ginny even more, ignoring the door opening again behind me, "_I – don't – care!_ Didn't you learn _anything_ from last year?" I step forward, towering over her in my feral strength, ignoring the way Ginny is trying to come between us.

"_I was just trying to help – !"_ Hermione screams back, hoarsely.

"You could have _helped_ by _letting him alone!"_ I thunder back. The beast convulses in me hungrily – I fight it down, but the anger still –

"Don't _shout_ at her – " Ron's weary voice comes from behind me, a hand yanking strongly on my arm.

That does it – I turn on him – been wanting to strangle _someone_ – I ignore the reason screaming in my ears, flinging him hard to the floor, the strength in my arms ignoring the cries and other hands that tear me off Ron.

"Calm _down_, Remus – "

I cannot – what's the fucking _use?_ I cannot calm down – there is no real reason to fight – the beast – any longer – Malfoy still lives – Harry lies in that bloody coffin, and I cannot say goodbye –

"_Stupefy"_

And darkness clutches at me, as I fall away, a howl erupting from my –

* * *

"Sweet _Merlin_…" Ron breathes, eyes widening. 

Hermione is still sobbing into his chest, as both of us listen, wide-eyed, to the ruckus going on just up the stairs from the kitchen.

My fists tighten involuntarily. I _told_ her –

"I feel – so – so s-s-stupid…" she sobs further, into Ron's chest. I sigh, swallowing my words.

I _did_ tell her, you know.

This morning was the same. The same bleakness, the same aching, awful feeling when I woke to sniffling from the bed beside me. My brain obligingly supplied what was so _wrong_ – Harry's funeral. It is today.

_Seven pm. Godric's Hollow._

Remus' anguished howl, tearing through the walls from above, does not surprise me in the least. Ron squeezes Hermione helplessly, glaring at the door. They have that in common, Remus and Ron – they're both everlastingly angry, now.

Remus' anger is feral, and completely so – unquenchable, spilling out at everything and everyone.

"_Stupefy!"_ We all flinch at the same time, hearing the thump-_thump_ of something that can only be Remus' twitching, near-skeletal frame.

Unquenchable, like I said.

I fold my arms round myself, because Ron's arms are full, with Hermione. My dull train of thought on anger continues.

_Ron's anger_, I think, looking at his face, twitching, almost-red, _is just there. Simmering. Selective. But very there._

I remember him screaming incoherently at Professor Snape when _he_ returned to our midst this morning, twitching like many of us, hanging around the house for our protection, have been doing. Surprisingly, Professor Snape didn't even give Ron more than a glance of hatred – he saved his vitriol for Mum.

She's angry too. It came flowing out, all pouring down on our hateful spy's neck. It was a spectacular fight – of words only – and surprising in the fervour on both parts. Snape kept looking at everyone, and _twitching_ – it was really rather odd.

I shake my head, hard.

I'm starting to get as incoherent as everyone around me.

I want, desperately, to stay sane, but it is difficult. Remus' wild behaviour is only a little extreme, compared to what everyone else is doing. Everyone else, being the public.

Wizarding Britain has all, collectively, gone a bit mad. Rocked, two weeks ago, now, by the scandal of the kidnapping of Harry Potter – _now everyone's poster boy, instead of the mad little saviour_, I think bitterly to myself – no one was prepared for the news that he was dead.

Dumbledore's statement sounded so cold. "Caught in spellfire during an attempted rescue." So meaningless. So implausible.

I remember Hermione saying that, in a small, small voice, at the meeting today. Now, as I look at her, her sobs quieting down at Ron's awkward ministrations, I remember the glare Remus shot at her as Professor Snape shot her down.

"_Implausible_, Miss Granger?" he said coldly, tone underlain with the same anger pulsing in everyone else. "Would you rather he took down fifty Death Eaters with him? Went out _heroically_? Kindly keep your opinions of Potter's demise _to yourself_."

Of course, Dumbledore admonished him for that, but it didn't make any difference. I shake my head slightly, to myself.

_No _idea_ why she wants to know how – how he died, now – isn't it useless? It makes no _sense_ –_

"He didn't mean it, Hermione…" My chin comes up from its position on my chest, sharply. _Sometimes, my brother is_ really _thick_ –

"Of course he did," I cut in. Ron glares at me, as Hermione slowly faces me, her face still crumpled with grief.

"But how can he – "

"_How do you think?"_ I hiss, my heart starting to beat nearly out of my chest, with the fury gathering within. "It's the _full moon_ tonight, Hermione – how would _you_ feel if you couldn't go to his funeral?"

"I was only trying to – " she starts. I can't hear it – I just –

"I can't do this – I _won't_ – "

"This is about the time he apologised, isn't it?" Hermione says, her own voice rising in grief and frustration.

"_Yes_ – and about the time when you _didn't listen to him!"_ Red seems to whirl behind my eyes, making me snap further at Ron, making me want to throttle her, too, just as Remus was on the brink of doing. "You didn't _see_ him thumping the wall in his room – bloodying his fists like an idiot just because _you didn't listen to him!"_

"And _he_ didn't scream at _you_ in front of _everyone!"_

"_You started that, Hermione – if you'd told me that was what you'd had in mind, I would've told you to fuck off!"_

"Stop _shouting at each other!"_ Ron's roar stills my racing pulse, but only for a minute, its direction giving me a new target for the sizzling fury in my body.

"And _you _–_ shouting at him_ for _defending_ himself!" I lean forward into Ron's equally angry frame, jabbing my finger at his chest. "You don't think I _know?_ Remus _told_ me – told me how it went – you _yelled_ at him for _not wanting to tell you_ what he _didn't feel like saying!"_

Silence, punctuated by the heavy breathing of we three, angry teenagers, reigns. I lower my hand, grief clawing at me. So many things, all gone so _wrong_ –

"Ginny – " Hermione is saying, half angry, half sad.

I turn on my brother and my friend, and flee the kitchen, heading for my room, so I can continue the steady activity I have been regularly engaging in so far – sobbing into my pillow.

By the time I emerge for a hasty dinner, prepared by Mum, with her empty eyes and trembling mask of a face, my face is splotchy and dull, despite all my charms. I give up on my appearance, donning my patched school robes carelessly, jabbing at my painful, tender eyes, ignoring everything until I reach the kitchen, where I dutifully put down my water and slightly dry sandwich, engaging softly in meaningless small talk with Fred and George.

Everyone else is silent, as the three of us chat lowly about me going back to school, and doing OWLs, and working at their shop, as they'll need a hand in the summer.

I reply that yes, school will be a nice change, and that my OWLs will take care of themselves, and of course I'll lend a hand during the summer. Ron and Hermione glare at me from nearby, but I ignore them. Remus is nowhere to be found – and that's a mixed blessing, because it means he may already be changing.

I wish Tonks was here, fiercely so. If only for Remus.

The journey to Godric's Hollow goes fascinatingly fast, voices and portkeys and walking and standing in line all jumbling together in a formless haze, and far too suddenly, we are here.

Thousands of people, I tell myself dully, are here, too.

Of course, we get preference – Weasleys getting preference, bloody joke, that – and we are in the front row, in the very midst of things, crying louder than everyone else. I cry until I cannot, then sit down, the words of the funeral speeches flowing over me like a distant, puzzling sea.

Questions, silly, sad little questions pluck at me from time to time.

_Where is Harry now?_

_I wonder if he's watching?_

_What in the blue blazes is Snape doing in the front row?_

_Who would've thought so many Slytherins would make it? Why, I can see _Nott_, of all people…_

_Did Harry have a will?_

_Wouldn't he be embarrassed by all this?_

_Bloody hell – are those _knickers_ that girl is trying to leave in his coffin?_

_Why is Snape still here?_

I almost laugh, just a little.

Then sigh, as I finally come to his coffin, and I freeze. Because he can't _be_ dead – this is surely all a joke, surely all a bizarre, odd little joke, and we'll meet him skulking around Grimmauld Place, and _Harry is not dead_.

I back away from the coffin slowly. I don't _want_ to see what's in there, because –

Because _Harry. Isn't. Dead._

_

* * *

_

Severus Snape had wondered who it would be, next, to go into hysterics. Lupin had been inevitable, really – he'd seen the way he'd completely _abandoned_ his duel, screaming imprecations at the Dark Lord, tearing away through the sea of shocked bodies.

He'd had to Stun him, of course. However happy the Dark Lord had been on Potter's demise, it would have been _purely_ unwise to do anything _but_ that.

Of course, there had been the little matter of Severus' own little bout of madness, as he'd started to Stun everyone and everything around him, heaping curses on Dumbledore's bloody, old, _late_ head as he'd Apparated away with his gleeful, hated master.

Snape watched, almost dispassionately, as Ginny Weasley began to back away from the coffin of Harry Potter, mumbling and muttering to herself, yelling at her frightened brothers that _Harry was not dead_. He turned away from the awful spectacle soon enough – it was really too close to home, to watch.

He'd stumbled into his old, rotting Manor, impotent with rage and despair, wondering _where the bloody fuck_ was Lucius Malfoy – he'd disappeared in that bloody Hollow, somehow, and Voldemort had been displeased at his absence from the revel that had followed.

Or, at least, he would _be_ displeased, when Lucius returned.

Severus remembered, now, even as he stood to help a distraught Arthur Weasley subdue his wild, weeping daughter, how he'd felt, on seeing Dumbledore in his Manor.

The memory was oddly hazy, but he could remember trying to strangle the old man.

"_Silencio_," muttered the dour man, as they withdrew into the nearest mausoleum, quieting the heaving sobs of the young girl, who began to splutter with rage. He put his wand away slowly, drawing back to allow her father and brothers to try to calm her down. It would not do her any good to Stun her, like he'd Stunned Lupin – the Weasley girl wouldn't be hysterical for long. If it had been the Granger girl, they would've had a problem on their hands – _that_ girl had the potential to be a weeping fount for _hours_.

He ignored the glares of the foolish Weasleys, clustered around the hysterical, weeping girl as they were. _On the other hand_, he told himself, _Lupin was rather more dangerous – an enraged werewolf, just a few hours before his monthly transformation, and therefore better off Stunned_.

He hadn't gone down too easily, but what did that matter? He was now locked away in the reinforced room in Grimmauld Place, and Severus, snorting to himself, thought that no one – not even that foolish Tonks, imprisoned as she was in St. Mungo's – would be letting him out until well after his transformation had taken place.

_Perhaps_, Severus mused further, _about half a day, to be safe. He'd really been _raving.

As he stepped out of the mausoleum, sneering at the weeping, sorrowful mourners that clustered heavily around the coffin – which he had instinctively steered clear of – Severus wondered why he was so calm.

It couldn't be a Cheering Charm or a Calming potion – the effects of either method simply did not _last_ three days, or give you a hazy, disjointed memory of brewing and cleaning and wiping blood off several articles of furniture. It puzzled him, and frightened him, as well.

It didn't help that his rage at Dumbledore had dimmed significantly, or that he had a strong compulsion to return to Snape Manor immediately after the funeral and its attending gatherings were well over.

Severus Snape had no real idea what was going on, apart from the strong feeling that the whole hazy situation was _not_ to do with one of The Dark Lord's plans, but he knew who to go in order to find out, and _where_, oddly, he could find the answers.

Snape Manor.

It was _infuriating_. And frightening, though he'd _die_ before he'd admit it to anyone.

Yet, hours later, a cursing, confused Severus Snape sought out Albus Dumbledore, away from prying eyes, and nodded quickly when the tired old man told the grim spy their destination, before handing Snape a portkey in the shape of a small notebook.

_The Headmaster's definitely off, today,_ Severus thought, the familiar sensation of portkey travel enveloping him. _Ridiculous password, that – 'alive'_ –

FIN.

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_A/N: _

_Forgive me – it's another cliff-hanger, eh? Don't worry – the first chapter of the sequel, a prologue of sorts, will be up later tonight, as well._

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